


Beauty & The Dragon

by RazzleDazzleBerry



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Suicide, Dark fic, F/M, Graphic Violence, Kidnapping, Sexism, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn, Smut, Torture, War, described child deaths, major angst, major character deaths, plenty of potential triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazzleDazzleBerry/pseuds/RazzleDazzleBerry
Summary: The Kingdom of Kai is surrounded by a cursed forest residing on top of treacherous enchanted mountains. The creatures living within the mountains threaten the peace and sanity of the kingdom's inhabitants. Meanwhile, Lady Bulma is being forced to marry a man she does not love. In her attempt to run away on her wedding day, she inadvertently ends up in the forest where she learns the Kingdom of Kai is not what it seems. The regent sitting upon the throne harbors secrets the kingdom knows nothing of, and a prince disguised as a terrifying dragon is the rightful heir. Can she save the prince and expose Lord Zamasu's secrets? Will Prince Vegeta ever take his place upon the throne?For the Vegebul Big Bang event. Updates every Sunday!
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 66
Collections: Vegebulocracy Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a brilliant artist, BianWW (find them on Twitter you won't regret it!) The artwork was beautifully created by BianWW, and has provided endless inspiration for this fic. A big thank you to my friend VegetasLilPrincess for beta reading this lengthy fic. Hope you all enjoy!

Bulma sat on a cushioned window seat overlooking her fiancé’s vast kingdom. From the top of her tower she could see the kingdom’s rigid mountainous borders, which encircled and closed off the land from foreign invaders. The mountains slept buried beneath powdery caps of snow while a legendary cursed black forest, known for the terrors and monsters residing between its black trees, grew upon its majestic slopes. 

These mountains were forbidden to travelers, and her fiancé's uncle, Lord Zamasu, strategically placed patrols at the foot of the mountains to keep the night crawlers residing on the mountain from encroaching upon the kingdom. However, as Bulma watched the shadows lengthen on the mountains, she couldn’t help the harrowing suspicion that the patrolmen weren’t trying to keep the monsters out, but to keep her locked in.

Bulma’s gaze traced over the jagged tops of the mountains, following from left to right, until the mountains narrowly split to allow a tranquil river, The River of Gold, to flow unimpeded. It was slender by any measure, but this strait was the only safe passage in and out of the kingdom. The blazing sun magnificently set between the break in the mountains, the river reflecting its luminous golden rays, which earned the river its name.

The river regarded hope. Hope that she, like the river, might abscond from the confinement surrounding her, but a growing desperate black hole in her chest entrapped the freely flowing river and consumed what little optimism she clung onto that she might one day ascertain freedom beyond the walls of this castle, beyond the sharp peaks of the mountains.

“There you are.” An oblivious ebullient voice interrupted her melancholy. She turned to find her fiancé, the source of her disconsolation, approaching her with a plate of food in one hand and a wrapped box the other. Her stomach dropped. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Should’ve known I’d find you here.”

“Did I miss dinner, Prince Yamcha?” Bulma inquired, though she wouldn’t have had an appetite even if she did attend.

“Yes, I saved you a plate. Although… It might be cold after searching all over the castle for you.” His ostentatious smile split his face in half as he awaited the songs of praise he felt deserving of. He held out a gold plate of dull dried out chicken and wrinkled browning asparagus. “We can have the cooks whip up something new if you prefer.”

“It’s alright.” Bulma returned her attention to the river below and sighed, desolation thick on her breath. “I’m not that hungry.”

“No matter, I brought you a gift as well.” Yamcha held out the box. It was wrapped in decorative green paper and held together with orange string. He set it on her lap, eagerly awaiting for her to open it. Though she moved slowly, eventually the wrappings fell to the floor and the lid was lifted to reveal a floor length fur coat. Yamcha pulled out the coat and turned it to show her the back where a red ensignia had been stitched over the furs. “As the queen, everyone should know you belong to the Kingdom of Kai.”

Nodding, Bulma noticed how peculiar the red was in comparison to the rest of the castle. Decorated in vibrant greens and bright oranges, red stuck out in an odd mismatch.

“I see.” Bulma turned away from Yamcha and the coat to look at the river once again. Though, she thought, they should have stuck with red and gold. 

Yamcha hung the coat in her wardrobe before settling beside her and glanced out the window, taking note of the richly sparkling river below. “It’s beautiful, huh?” Bulma nodded before Yamcha continued, “I’m always reminded of the vast wealth I’ll inherit once we marry and I become king. Only two more days, can you believe it? Lord Zamasu will no longer hold my throne, and we can rule these lands while enjoying all of its splendors. Won’t it be grand?”

Yamcha continued his enthused ramblings, but Bulma’s overwhelming dread spun the world around her and threatened to viciously throw her onto the stone floor. Two days. Was that really all that remained? Two days before she would be forced into the heinous white and yellow wedding gown Yamcha’s royal dresser created? Two days before she would have to gracefully glide down the church aisle the way princesses are supposed to? Two days… her chest heaved as Yamcha disregarded her existence to revel in the riches he would soon inherit. Two days until she married _him_.

Her eyes welled as she studied the break between the mountains. The sun expeditiously disappeared behind the horizon, and the golden river turned blacker than the haunted forest surrounding it. The stars were not yet twinkling and the moon was dark as it began its cycle of rebirth. No light illuminated the land nor glittered upon the river to guide her toward propitious freedom. All there existed was shadow; shadow, and the simpleton who set the plate of food beside her before leaving her tower.

Cool winter wind intensified, growing colder without the sun to warm it. It blew into her tower without care of the occupant, but Bulma disregarded her blankets in hopes of catching pneumonia. At least this way she wouldn’t have to attend her own wedding, though the chances they would force her down the aisle half dead were far too great as well.

She stretched her hand toward the window’s opening, hoping once again for the spell sealing her inside to suddenly falter and allow her to fall to a merciful end. However, as her palm reached an inch beyond the window’s ledge, an opalescent swirl of magic halteded her from proceeding forward. As her palm fought against the constraints of her prison, a few of the weakening threads holding her heart together snapped, leaving the last remaining fibers under intense strain as they barely managed to hold together the deep rift in her chest.

Sighing, Bulma closed the window and lit the fire in her room, casting a warm orange glow throughout her darkened chambers. Yes, they would certainly march her down the aisle no matter the circumstances. Yamcha simply would not allow her to miss his wedding. His wedding satisfied the requirements to prove he was ready to claim his deceased father’s throne. By law, he must demonstrate his worthiness to sit upon the throne by taking a wife capable of producing heirs, and his queen must be everything the kingdom expected—silent and obedient.

With a heavy heart burdened by an impending life of forced servitude, Bulma slipped into her bed. In two days time she would no longer call this room or this bed her own. She would be relocated into the King’s quarters with her new husband where she would be expected to _perform._

Every inch of her body turned into lead as she sunk into the mattress, the weight of her future more than she could bear. As her flame lit room faded into black, Bulma begged every god in the sky to take her life before the morning light. But morning came just as it always did, and just like the morning before, she couldn’t remember how or when she came to live in the castle.

Fractured sunlight crept between the window’s wood slats as Bulma pleaded with sleep to reclaim its comforting hold on her consciousness, but her only hope of escaping this cold palace abandoned her as her handmaid, Dodder, bustled into her room without a single knock.

“Much to do today, Lady Bulma.” Dodder dashed madly around the room, gathering essential items to prepare Bulma for the day against Bulma’s will. She pulled out a long green dress from the wardrobe, velvet slippers from the bedside, and a grey wolf pelt Bulma had tossed in the corner a few days earlier. She dumped the items at the foot of the bed, grabbed a silver brush, and yanked it through Bulma’s waist length turquoise hair. “You’re expected to meet with the royal dresser for one final dress fitting. He’s finished with your veil. Oh my! You will love what he came up with. It has a train more than twenty feet long, and it will cloak these hideous shoulders of yours! What a vision you’ll be, milady!”

Bulma grumbled. A vision? Her stomach churned. She would be a vision while everyone in this castle would remain willfully blinded to her suffering, or worse, dutifully engaging in beating her into silence each day after the wedding. Each day a new piece of her soul faded away into the expanse of nothingness, and soon they would sing praises for her successful transformation into a soulless husk.

“How long will the fitting take? I refuse to stand on that footstool all day again.”

Dodder’s brush caught in her hair and forcefully yanked Bulma’s head backwards until the back of her head touched her shoulder blades and her neck felt as though it would snap. “You mustn’t refuse, milady. Prince Yamcha and Lord Zamasu desire you to look your best. If that means standing on the stool all day, then so be it. You wouldn’t upset your adoring fiancé now would you?”

The brush’s painful grip held fast until Bulma conceded. She whispered her agreement through gritted teeth and the handmaid lifted the brush while humming a joyful melody as though all was right in their world. As though she hadn’t just punished her future queen.

Once finished with brushing, the maid pinned Bulma’s hair into a low bun. “You’ll wear your hair similarly for the ceremony, though it will be much more elegantly constructed. For now, this will do for the fitting.”

“I don’t get to choose my own hair style?” Bulma’s innocent question earned her a sharp jab of a bobby pin into her scalp. A silent queen was a delightful queen. How dare she ask such a simple question? Choosing her own wedding hairstyle? Blasphemy. These tawdry details were best left to the prince apparently.

“Lord Zamasu prefers your hair up. Now please act respectfully today, Lady Bulma. I know how hard it is for you to do so, but it would be a shame to send you to your lady in waiting so soon before your wedding day. Bruises are so difficult to cover after all.”

“And we must follow Lord Zamasu’s preferences,” Bulma stated, though the sarcasm was lost on Dodder. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the last disciplinary action her lady in waiting took. It was her job to prepare Bulma for her position as queen, a job she took too seriously as evidenced by the scars hidden underneath the sleeping dress covering Bulma’s back.

“Precisely. Now dress. Quickly!”

Moments later Bulma was shoved into the green winter dress and the grey wolf pelt matching Yamcha’s winter furs was wrapped around her shoulders. Then, in the blink of an eye, Bulma was standing on the royal dresser’s footstool, stripped bare, and waiting for her heinous wedding dress to be dumped over her head.

“Arms up, milady.”

Bulma’s exposed skin prickled in the cold castle air, and she yearned for the warmth of her conservative winter dress, which hid her body from wandering eyes. Reluctantly, Bulma lifted her arms above her head and exposed her chest to the room in the process. Thistle, the royal dresser, and two of his assistants pulled an oversized dress over her head and down her body. Her head poked through, her arms slipped into the sleeves, and she looked into the mirrors surrounding the stool where she found Lord Zamasu’s reflection leaning against the doorway, nodding his approval. Her heart raced as she spun to face him. Had he been standing there when she was forced to lift her hands over her head?

Zamasu locked eyes with her. He maintained his gaze on her form as he approached Thistle and plainly stated his critique while pointing to her waist, “Smaller.”

The royal dresser nodded so quickly Bulma thought his glasses might fly from his face. “Yes, of course. We cannot have a fat princess.”

Shocked, Bulma quickly looked herself over in the mirror. ‘ _Fat?_ ’

Zamasu pinched Bulma’s muscular shoulders and raised a judgmental brow toward Thistle. “Something must be done about these. She’s far too bulky to be graceful. These sleeves just don’t hide this obscenity.”

“Ah, my thoughts exactly, milord. Which is why…” he picked up Bulma’s veil, his assistants quickly lifted the heavy train attached to the crystal tiara. The tiara was pinned into her hair and the material surrounded her shoulders and back. “We created this!”

Zamasu smirked at her, walked in a circle around her while trailing his fingertips around her waist, and examined her much too closely for comfort. “Well now, isn’t she finally beginning to look like a queen? Your spectacularly clever work never ceases to awe me, Thistle."

A delighted grin shined on Thistle’s face as he received Zamasu’s acclaim. “Now, I must excuse myself. I have much to accomplish today. More night crawlers crept over the border last night, which left our borders’ forces heavily battered. Our citizens will be left unprotected by the end of the week at this rate.”

Thistle placed a pin in Bulma’s veil as he listened. He wasn’t a friend of the royal family per se, but as the royal clothier he was privy to information others in the castle were not as details were often shared over a lengthy fitting. However, only Bulma knew of Zamasu’s midnight wanderings through the castle as fear of an attack consumed him.

Thistle confidently offered, “Should worst come to worst, the citizens will rise to protect the kingdom. They may fear the night crawlers, but they aren’t gutless cowards.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Well, I must venture to the border. I entrust the finalization of this project to your skilled hands.”

The dresser bowed as Zamasu left and spent the remainder of the day criticizing Bulma’s figure. As if labeling her toned shoulders and normal sized waist a flaw weren’t enough to satisfy his compulsive need to wear her down. He thanked the gods her muscular legs were easily hidden beneath the dress before complaining that the veins in her hands protruded too much. He feared they would show through her silk gloves and layers of pearl bracelets; a fear that was as ridiculous as it was over exaggerated.

Every time Bulma wiggled uncomfortably or showed any signs of distaste or distress, her skin would be met with an _accidental_ needle jamming into her. Half way through the fitting she was certain the inside of her dress was coated with bloodstains. By the end of the day she every last drop of her finite stores of energy were drained, and she struggled to climb the tower stairs leading to her room.

As she climbed, she caught the scent of dinner floating through the castle, but she didn’t feel a single hunger pang despite not eating the entire day. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Had it been a few days or a few weeks? Who could remember anything in this castle? The days and the memories attached to them blurred into one another until a week felt like one long endless day, though a month seemingly lasted an entire year.

When she arrived to her tower, Bulma’s lady in waiting sat patiently upon the wooden stool that partnered with Bulma’s desk. Her emerald eyes bore into Bulma as she hesitated at the doorway. Sensing Bulma’s disdain, she stood, crossed the room, and roughly grabbed Bulma’s shoulder before pulling her into the room.

“Have you no decency?” Thorn sternly reprimanded Bulma as she pushed her on top of the bed. “You refuse to show for dinner, you complain ceaselessly, and you refuse to stand still while being fitted for your wedding dress. You will become a queen tomorrow, and still you refrain from managing even the slightest shred of etiquette. What’s more, you refuse to acknowledge our Lord or our Prince for the gracious hosts they are.”

Bulma’s hands shook as Thorn towered over her; shadows covered her eyes without masking the glint of hatred reflecting within them. She tried to think of any way to escape this woman, to deny Thorn the satisfaction of tearing open her knuckles on Bulma’s cheekbones. However, her mind blanked and her heart pounded as she finally saw the leather whip coiled on top of her desk.

Thorn turned away from Bulma, picked up the whip, and looked over her shoulder at the terrified maiden. “Your actions are deserving. However, seeing as tomorrow is your wedding day, the soon to be king will have my head if you’re bloodied up the day before your wedding.”

Relief washed over Bulma as the whip fell to Thorn’s side. If tomorrow were any other day, the scars on Bulma’s back would have been forcibly reopened. She would have felt the punishment of the godforsaken whip, and she would have spent the night crying, bleeding on her chamber floor.

“Consider yourself lucky, but remember _this_. I won’t hesitate to strike a queen who steps out of line.”

As the door slammed shut behind Thorn’s exit, Bulma fell to the floor on all fours, her relief gaving way to hysterics. She hated this fucking castle. She hated the man she was to marry in less than twelve hours. She hated her caretakers, their abuse, and their ideals of proper etiquette. She hated everything. She hated her own life, her indentured servitude, and inability to escape it.

Bulma looked up to her window seat where the plate of food from the night before still waited to be eaten. Her brows pinched together and the ever-growing hole in her soul filled with furious fire, offering a ferocious resurgence of precious energy. She stood and threw open the window, immediately filling the room with freezing winter air. Bulma picked up the plate and her “bulky” shoulders flexed as she hurled it out the window. The food flung off the spinning plate, but the plate spun tempestuoulsy until it collided against the castle walls. Gold glass shards glinted flecks of reflected starlight as they fell to the ground.

Tears slipped over her cheeks. One moment of brief release would never fill the void in her heart. The all consuming black hole growing within her drove her to madness, but expressing her frustrations would only lead to harsh punishment. She needed out, and she needed it now. Before the wedding, before the end truly began. There was only one way to permanently escape the torture, to stop the wedding, and to die on her own terms with her soul still housed in her body.

Only she couldn’t plummet to her demise. Her eyes scanned the room, the maids had been cautious in giving her anything that could allow her to take her own life. Then, finally, an idea came to mind. If they wanted a queen frozen in silence, then she would give them one.

Quickly, Bulma locked her tower door and shoved her desk in front of it, preventing anyone from trying to save her from herself. Welcoming pneumonia wasn’t a complete enough option to offer a final escape from the pain flourishing within her like a decaying spring flower, but barring the door and swallowing down the bottle of wine she hid in her bureau while she welcomed a delightfully slow death was.

The subzero night air blustered furiously through the open window as a blizzard encroached upon the kingdom. Snow blew inside the small tower and stuck to the stone floor. She cast aside her shoes, tore off the wolf pelt, and tossed her dress into the darkened fireplace. The chill quickly went to work, freezing the smallest pieces of her exposed body first. As she sat on the floor in nothing but her undergarments, she welcomed the physical pain of frostbite to cut into her thoughts.

Broken and helpless, Bulma crawled onto the window seat to lay directly in the wind’s path. This time, gods be damned, she wouldn’t wake with the morning sun. She would freeze long before then, and she would welcome every excrutiating frostbitten moment. At least this way the pain she felt wasn’t inflicted upon her by handmaids who pretended to look out for her best interests, or from her lady in waiting who delivered much harsher solutions to her disobedience than a small prick of a needle or a yanking hair brush.

She smiled as she closed her eyes, the first smile to grace her greying lips since entering the castle. At least this way Yamcha wouldn’t claim what he felt entitled to, and his uncle’s wandering eyes would not have free access to her body.

At least this way she could deliver her boldest statement yet. Perhaps now they would listen to her silence.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you ready?” King Vegeta smiled approvingly as his eldest son straightened out the wrinkles in his ankle length crimson cape. The prince examined himself in his bedroom mirror to spot any imperfections in his attire. He wore a royal blue suit that molded to his body like a second skin, and a red cape attached to his silvery metal chest plate armor. The crest of Sadala was etched into the right side of his chest plate, resting over his heart, proudly declaring his loyalty.

“Yes, father.” Prince Vegeta turned away from the floor length mirror toward his father, not a hair out of place. Though his head only rose to his father’s waist, the boy would be declared king before the day’s end and rule over all of Sadala. He fretted over his appearance, desiring to uphold the image his father created and follow in his strong regal footsteps.

“Very well. Follow me, there is much to discuss prior to your coronation.”

Following as ordered, the prince ran from his room in order to keep pace with his father. Kings never slowed for anyone. It was their duty to press on when it seemed impossible, to push ahead where others surrendered. It was a lesson the prince learned well as he dutifully prepared for the role to be bestowed upon him.

The king led his son through their magnificent castle, passing castle employees and greeting them with a single respectful nod. They passed through the war hall where battle worn shields, axes, swords, and various weaponry decorated the walls from floor to ceiling. Each rusty shield was painted red and gold, but chips of paint and dented metal preserved the brutality of war. Tips of swords were missing, still embedded in the skeletons burried beneath ancient battlefields. Axe handles were split in half, mace were stained with the enemy’s blood, and various favored weapons revealed bygone eras of warriors who valiantly fought for king and country. As declaration of their honor, each fallen warrior’s weapon hung in this hall, reminding all who stood against Sadala of the fatality of their disloyalty. For every one of the weapons hung in this great room, countless scores of opposing warriors had soaked the battlefield with their own blood.

Beyond the war room, King Vegeta guided the prince into the throne room. “Son, do you understand why one must pass through the war room prior to entering the throne room?”

“So our allies and enemies never forget our strength.”

“Yes, and…”

“And…” Vegeta began, following his father down a long thin red carpet, but failed to comprehend what more needed to be said. As his father stepped up onto the platform where two enormous golden thrones rested, Vegeta’s onyx eyes sparkled in awe. His father never looked more regal than when sunlight streamed through the glass windows and illuminated the throne while he sat upon it’s delicately carved golden surface. As he always did, Vegeta took his princely place beside his father’s throne, standing at his righthand side.

“ _And so,”_ he continued for his son, looking back at the war room, “We, the kings of this land, never forget those who gave all in the heat of battle. When you look over this kingdom, when you sit upon this throne, you will decide who lives and who dies. It’s a burden none other in this kingdom will bear. Though it may seem glorious to charge into battle, the lives of our people carry a heavy price. With each drop of Saiyan blood spilled, Sadala grows weaker. We must not give in to selfish gain, nor take beyond what we are owed. It is our duty as kings to care for this country and its proud people.”

“Yes, father.”

King Vegeta’s forearms rested atop the cushioned armrests, his fingers curled around the carved lion’s foot-like edges. “My time as king has come to an end, and I have prepared you as best I can for your rule, but know this; there are some things only experience can teach. My instruction so far will only assist you in the most peaceful of times. Should peril strike a fatal blow, the kingdom will look to you for guidance, and in that moment you will not know what to do either. Do not let them, our people nor our enemies, know you are afraid. Keep your head high and push beyond the limits of what is possible. Keep going, keep pressing, and do not look back.”

Confused, Vegeta looked to his father. The man never showed any signs of stress. Even as his health failed him, he always appeared to be in complete control of any situation no matter how dire.

“You have been afraid, father?” The king nodded and suddenly Vegeta felt betrayed. Saiyans were supposed to be courageous, valiant, and brave. There was no room for fear if victory was to be confiscated. His father had been a pillar of strength his entire life, but now he was learning it was all a lie?

“Bravery is not the opposite of fear, my son. Bravery is pushing forward in spite of fear. Fear reminds us of what is important, it pushes us to fight so we may protect what we love. It keeps us alive when death charges through the door and holds a dagger against our throats. Do not undervalue fear, but do not allow it to paralyze you either.”

“Are you afraid now, father?”

King Vegeta smiled and leaned onto his right arm, closing the distance between him and his oldest son so he could whisper a single word of encouragement. “No,” he lied. “Now, collect your brothers and sister. The coronation will begin in an hour, and we both know how long it takes them to all get ready for anything important.”

The prince stepped from the ledge, bowed to the king, ran down the length of the throne room, and disappeared beyond the war room. King Vegeta relaxed against the throne’s maroon cushioned backing. Of course he was afraid. His son was due to become a child king before the day’s end. What should have been his own lengthy rule, was drastically cut in half by a tumor growing around his heart. When the pain began, the royal physician estimated he had less than a year left to live, but as he rubbed at the bulge protruding between his ribs, he feared he wouldn’t make it through the day let alone the next month.

However, his own health did not concern him. No, it was his son for whom he feared. Ruling a kingdom was tiresome, stressful work. Though Vegeta’s mother would be there as an advisor and commander of their military, Vegeta would have to navigate the treacherous, stormy waters of his reign alone with nothing to guide him but the scraps of his father’s teachings.

King Vegeta glanced out of one of the many slender windows which overlooked the valley his kingdom resided within. From his throne, he could only see small slivers of his kingdom, but as he stood and crossed the white quartz tile floor, the entire expansive city became visible through a single window.

The king’s hands gathered behind his back as he gazed upon the magnificence of Sadala. From this vantage point, he could observe the busy markets lining the edges of the river which steadily flowed through the valley, fed by snowmelt from nearby mountains. During the spring, the river was a thick sapphire ribbon filled with an abundance of wriggly fish and feisty crustaceans waking from their winter slumber. The farms surrounding the city common cleaverly irrigated the water to feed their crops, and come harvest season, their crops would taste more delectable than any growing beyond their valley ever would.

As King Vegeta watched the citizens of his kingdom moving about their daily lives, he couldn’t help fingering the ring on his right hand ring finger. He brought his hands in front of him and gazed down as he turned the ring three times around his finger. A brilliantly sparkling ruby caught and trapped the sun’s rays as it spun, richochetting each small fract of light between the stone’s beveled edges.

The crest of Sadala had been carved into the surface of the stone four centuries prior, reminding the wearer he was naught but a servant of this country. Though the king may sit upon the throne, it was the land and its inhabitants who truly reigned. It was his duty to ensure their safety, to push them through trying times, and to make difficult decisions without falling victim to corruption or selfish whims. Should he ignore those duties, the spells placed upon the ring would claim his life in an instant.

Only two kings had ever fallen by way of the ring. The first was a king of old whose name had been long forgotten, the second, his own grandfather. Neither had been able to resist the splendors of sparkling gold nor glorious unnecessary war. Neither lived long enough to enjoy them.

Tonight—the king turned the ring to its rightful position—the crest and ruby measuring his character with every turn, he would place this ring upon his own son’s hand. He would watch as his son recited the spell which bound the prince and his life to this proud land. His son would be expected to make informed selfless decisions when the very nature of a child is to be selfish.

King Vegeta’s hands dropped to his sides and he looked at the window once more. However, this time he did not see the kingdom below, but his own reflection staring back at him. His stern black eyes cut into him, his frowning mouth cursed the tumor growing around his heart. It was too soon. While Vegeta was the only heir he trusted the position to, he needed more time to prepare his son. He needed more time with his son period, with his own wife and all of their children. He simply needed more.

The tumor suddenly squeezed around the king’s heart, and he dropped to his knees while clenching his chest. As he focused on breathing through the pain, he heard the scurrying of pointed heels clamouring through the throne room.

“Vegeta!” Two small yet strong hands grasped his shoulders as his wife knelt beside him. Concern wrinkled her forehead as she looked at him.

“I’m fine,” he grunted through clenched teeth. Curse this wretched tumor. Was this what he would have to look forward to in his final days? His beloved queen’s worrisome black eyes watching him succumb to a slow agonizing death?

Vegeta moved to stand, but faltered as his heart struggled against the tumor. Queen Eschalot wrapped an arm around his back and pulled his right arm over her shoulders. She bore the brunt of his weight just as she always did whenever he was injured on the battlefield and led him out of the throne room, toward their chambers.

King Vegeta’s left hand clenched at his chest while a grimace contorted his otherwise handsome features. The passaged through the castle blurred as he fought for breath, but soon they were passing through the doors of their shared chambers. King Vegeta assured as the chamber doors slammed shut behind them, “I’m fine, my love.”

“Like hell,” Eschalot sharply retorted as she set her husband upon their four poster bed. For a moment he was thankful for the bed’s waist high height. It required little effort to sit on the edge without having to climb up onto the mattress. “The coronation isn’t for another hour. You should rest.”

“Rest is for the weak.”

Eschalot stood in front of the king as he sat, crinkling the recently smoothed ivy fur blankets. She huffly crossed her arms over her chest before correcting, “Rest is for the strong, it is recovery so you can regroup and press ahead once again. You have spent your entire life being stronger than is required of any Saiyan, now you need a little bit of rest so you can be there for our son when he assumes the throne.”

“And if I refuse rest? Will I be able to delay his coronation? He is only nine. It’s much too soon.”

Her husband’s eyes remained hard as he pleaded for more time. Eschalot placed her hands on either side of his face, stood between his parted legs, and lowered her forehead to his. For a brief silent moment the sharp cutting dagger of grief jamming into their hearts was softened through the tenderness of her affection.

Eschalot solemnly whispered, “If it could be so, I would delay his coronation until the sun sank beyond the horizon for the last time. I would fight death himself just to spare you one more day. I would give you my own heart without a second hestitation.”

Vegeta’s hands slid up her back, tangling his fingertips in her long red tinted hair, and pulled her body flush against his own, their foreheads still connected as the last of the pain in his chest finally subsided. “You have already given me your heart, my love, and what an honor it has been to have held it for this long.”

“The honor has always been in how well you cared for it. I have never regretted surrendering it to you.”

Their foreheads disconnected only so their lips could find each other. Sadala faded into oblivion as their impassioned kiss transported them to a world where heartache, grief, and woe failed to thrive. Where the warmth of love prevailed over the chill of disease. They were fond of this world. Every one of their many children had been conceived here, and while many other Saiyans visited a similar world with their own lovers, this one was entirely their own. It was heaven, divine as passion gave way to carnal expression.

“You should rest, my king.”

King Vegeta shook his head, the pain in his chest finally subsiding. “I’ll rest when I’m dead, my queen.”

His lips reclaimed hers as his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Vegeta fell back onto the bed, pulling Eschalot on top of him where she then straddled his hips. His lips moved with hers in unison, not trying to win a battle against her but complimenting her movements. Together, they reigned over their private world, each kiss reminding the other they were equals in both this world and the one they frequently escaped from.

Years of practice through both sword and lust earned them the ability to read each other’s bodies and predict what the other might do. As Eschalot reached down to untie the front of his pants, King Vegeta was already pulling the hem of her dress up to her waist. After his erection sprung free, Vegeta pushed Eschalot’s underwear to the side and eagerly watched as her body slowly slid onto his.

They gasped together as their bodies unified. Though years had passed since their very first fervent union, the toe curling sensation of meeting once more never failed to ignite passionate flames which spread through their bodies like a wild fire in the middle of a summer drought. The burning embers of their love danced with new life with each of Eschalot’s movements, the dancing flames mimicking the sway of her hips. King Vegeta’s tail reached toward her own, tenderly wrapping around hers, intimately unifying their bodies with this sacred display of affection.

Eschalot fell onto Vegeta’s chest as her orgasm rippled throughout her body. His arms held her fast against him as his hips lifted and plunged into her over and over, ravaging her body until she cried a second release, triggering his own.

They panted together, smiling and chuckling as they came down from their highs. The haze of the world around them dissipated as their bodies disconnected, but the bond reforged within their inferno never cracked.

Vegeta swept the hair from her neck and left a single tender kiss just below her ear before whispering, “I love you, my queen.”

Eschalot’s onyx eyes sparkled, reflecting her unwavering passion. “I love you too, Vegeta. Now, you really should rest. Today will be long, and I fear I’ve stolen what little reserve of energy you may have.”

“Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

The pain on the left side of his chest returned with an intense vendetta moments after Eschalot rested her head on the right side of his chest. He attempted to maintain control so as not to worry her, but as her eyes fluttered shut, he found it increasingly difficult to maintain a steady breath. All of his battle injuries paled in comparison to this, including the time the green giants of Namek crushed all of the bones in his leg.

Naturally, rest eluded him, and he genuinely feared he would not rise again should he fall asleep while the tumor terrorized his heart. Still, he allowed his queen to sleep beside him, hoping this wouldn’t be the last time she did so.

While the king and queen secluded themselves to their bedroom, the castle inhabitants bustled from room to room, adding the final decorative touches in preparation for the coronation. Wreaths and garland of snowy carnations were carefully wrapped around pillars, hung over doorways, and scattered throughout the various event rooms. The throne room where the king and prince would exchange the crowning ring, the great hall where feast and ebullient dancing would last well into the early morning hours, and the draw bridge where the new crowned king would renew the spells that fortified the lands from invaders, were all intricately prepared in honor of Prince Vegeta.

The castle employees each selected one of the children to clothe and prepare for the festivities. Meanwhile, Prince Vegeta pulled a snow colored waistcoat over his youngest brother’s head.

“Stop wiggling, Tarble.”

“But buh-buh, its itchy!”

Tarble, only four years old, was the most fidgety of his siblings. Mayhem followed him everywhere he went like a chaotic twin who destroyed nearly everything in his path, forcing Vegeta to clean up the worst of the messes. It wasn’t uncommon to find most of Tarble’s toys broken after being missing for weeks, nor was it uncommon for him to hide from Vegeta after breaking one of his elder brother’s toys.

“Itchy or not, you have to stop wiggling so I can button it.”

“But!”

Vegeta cut into his brother’s whining, “No buts. You have to sit still today, Tarble. No breaking things or interrupting. I’d hate for my first declaration as king to be to send you to your room.”

“You can’t do that, Vegeta! Only Mama and Papa can!”

Vegeta somehow managed to finish buttoning the waist coat and pulled out a small red bandana reserved for the use of the smaller princes. “Listen here, you little tornado. Mother will have her hands full taking care of Father, and Father will undoubtedly be in pain the entire day. They won’t have time to clean up after you nor ensure you’re on your best behavior.”

“Buh-buh…” Tarble’s bottom lip trembled. “I don’t want Papa to die.”

The bandana shook in Vegeta’s trembling hands, his eyes welled up and threatened to spill tears over his freshly cleaned cheeks. His fists clenched around the bandana as he swallowed down the growing lump in his throat. Then, as he always did when his brother was upset, he pulled his baby brother into his lap and offered a single squeezing embrace.

“I know, Tarble. Always remember this; Father is the greatest king to have ever ruled over Sadala. I’ll be lucky if I’m half the king he was.”

Silence fell between them until Tarble’s small voice broke their dismay. “You’re gonna be a great king, buh-buh, you’re already a great brudder.”

“Get on your shoes.” Vegeta shifted Tarble to the floor beside him and tossed him his white and gold boots, brushing off the compliment and pushing away the grief. The boy started pulling them on. “That’s the wrong foot.”

“Is Bulma coming today?” Tarble asked hopefully while he quickly shifted the shoe to the right foot. Vegeta nodded. “I love Bulma.”

“What?”

“I love her. Like Papa loves Mama. She’s gonna be my queen one day.”

Vegeta shook his head. “Why would she marry you when you can’t even put your shoes on the right feet?”

“Because love doesn’t come from shoes, buh-buh!” A few of the castle employees chuckled at Tarble’s sudden innocent declaration while they pulled shirts over the heads of his brothers. “And when I’m king, I’m gonna declare everyone can wear their shoes however they want.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Tarble stood, stamping his feet to proudly display his boots.

The crimson silk bandana in Vegeta’s hand slipped around the back of the boy’s neck. Vegeta’s nimble fingers brought the ends in front of Tarble’s throat where he loosely tied a knot. Admiring his work, Vegeta nodded approvingly of Tarble’s completed ensemble.

“The Mighty King Tarble, Vanquisher of Shoes. I quake in my boots from your very presence.”

Tarble smirked, placed his hands on his hips, and proudly puffed out his chest. “Do I look like Papa?”

“Yes,” Vegeta lied. Tarble resembled their mother with his smaller build. He had her nose and forehead, and his cheek dimples matched her own. No matter how he tried, Tarble would never look like their father. He was his mother’s son through and through, a proud fact the King often voiced.

“Good. Time to make my future queen swoon.”

Once again the castle employees chuckled, but Tarble remained completely unabashed even as Vegeta shook his head. “’Swoon’? Do you even know what that word means?”

“I unno… I heard Papa say it to Mama.”

Vegeta bit his tongue, not entirely certain of its meaning either. Girls and love were never at the forefront of his mind, his duties to the throne consumed his every waking moment. “Enough of this nonsense, Tarble. Have you brushed your teeth?”

“You tell me.” Tarble jumped forward and huffed in Vegeta’s face.

“Gods above, Tarble! Go brush them right now!”


	3. Chapter 3

“My lady! My lady!” Bulma heard the distressed calling of her name, but she refused to comfort it with an answer. She scrunched her eyes and willed sleep to overcome her once again. However, the voice was persistent as it grabbed her shoulders and shook her relentlessly. “Lady Bulma!”

“Leave me alone,” Bulma groggily mumbled. She turned, pulling her bedsheets over her head as she faced the window. Her eyes cracked open—sheets?

She sat up and gawped at the room. Someone had moved her into her bed and lit the fireplace. Her tower room was warm and comfortable, the windows shuttered, her desk occupying its usual space, and the royal physician glared at her from the window seat. Her body burned as her blood thawed, puddles of snowmelt coated the floor, and the handmaid assiduously pressed a warm cloth to the ends of her defrosting hair.

Once satisfied, Dodder frantically poured a glass of mulled wine before shoving it into Bulma’s blue hand while sternly scolding her. “Drink, Lady Bulma. This will warm you right up. How could you scare us like this? You gave us quite the fright!”

Bulma feigned an apologetic look to her handmaid, but her skin crawled as the physician’s piercing eyes bore into her barely clothed, half frozen form. “Sorry about that.”

“Prince Yamcha found you in the early hours of the morning nearly frozen solid. The poor prince’s heart nearly gave out when you wouldn’t wake!”

“Where is the prince?”

“Well, after he placed you in your bed, he had to step out of the room to calm himself. He was so worried he had lost you! We all were. Now, drink your wine!”

Dodder wasn’t one to take no for an answer as she pushed the wine closer to Bulma’s mouth. The princess reluctantly obliged, but she protested in her own small way by taking a sip instead of the gulp her handmaid demanded.

As she swallowed, the royal physician stood, towering above herself and the handmaid, and silently waved the servant away. He took up uninvited residence upon her bed where the handmaid once sat and his eyes probed Bulma as his arched brow gave way to the judgment he held against her.

“You aren’t the first to attempt escaping their wedding, and I doubt you will be the last. But know this, there are worse things than living the remainder of your life inside these walls. You’re lucky Lord Zamasu brought you here. Even luckier still that Prince Yamcha agreed to make you his bride. He may not be everything you hoped for, but at least he isn’t cruel. You, however, attempting to take your own life and forcing the prince to find you half dead _is_ cruel.”

Bulma’s hands shook, her heart raced, and she wanted nothing more than to lunge at the man. How dare he twist her heartbreak into compassion for Yamcha. How dare he ignore her pain to spare Yamcha his own. How dare he call her cruel when the very nature of her being here was nothing short of kidnapping and imprisonment.

She probably would have tackled the man if Yamcha hadn’t entered the room and excused the doctor. Once again a man sat unwelcomed upon her bed. Yamcha took the wine from her and placed it on her bedside table before capturing her hands in his own.

“You’re still cold.” He removed his beloved wolf pelt from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. Yamcha tilted his head to the side and smirked, reveling in the praise he bestowed upon himself for his thoughtful efforts. His hands reclaimed hers. “Clumsy girl. Don’t scare me like that again, alright?”

Bulma nodded as she sullenly looked down at Yamcha’s hands. They were uncomfortably large as his thick fingers interlaced with hers and spread her fingers apart farther than they should be. Being near him was physically painful, but it was expected she would accept the discomfort in absolute silence. In fact, her distress was not to be heard no matter the urgency or severity.

Yamcha’s mother was regaled as the greatest queen their kingdom had ever known due to her laboring noiselessly while in court beside King Gowasu. It wasn’t revealed she birthed Yamcha until after she excused herself to the restroom and came back holding a newborn child.

One of Yamcha’s hands released Bulma’s to meet her cheek and draw her attention back to him. His thumb stroked her soft ashen skin as he spoke, “I know you’re not happy here right now, but I promise you will be soon enough. Just give it time.”

“Why?” Bulma whispered. “Why did you choose me?”

His brows drew together and he looked at her as though the answer were painfully obvious. “Because you are the most beautiful maiden in my kingdom.”

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you can’t become king without taking a wife?”

The prince shrugged. “It may be the reason I was looking for a bride, but it’s not the reason why I chose you.”

“So you chose me because I’m pretty... and what else?”

Yamcha didn’t understand her question. His jaw flexed as he grew more annoyed with his fiancé’s incessant questioning, but he chuckled, stood, and strutted toward the door. “What else? Hah, what else is there?”

His words cut through her like a dagger. ‘What else is there’? What about her intelligence, curiosity and remarkable ability to fix anything she found broken? Then again, all such things were vehemently opposed. These characteristics were unbecoming of their future queen.

Yamcha opened the door just as Bulma accused more than she questioned, “Why were you in my room in the middle of the night.”

The door abruptly slammed in front of Yamcha and he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes cloaked in shadow. His hands clenched by his side as his nostrils flared, “Silence. I have answered enough of your questions. You will rest for a short while longer before being collected to prepare for our wedding.”

Yamcha pulled the wooden door open and stormed out, slamming it behind him. Tears spilled down Bulma’s colorless cheeks. She anxiously tossed the sheets from her and ran to the window where she threw open the shutters and welcomed the cold air once more. A fresh thick blanket of snow covered the kingdom below her. Neither footprints nor animal tracks marred its smooth powdery surface. The sun had not yet risen to melt it and carriage wheels had not yet churned the snow and mud beneath it to sully its pristine beauty.

It was so early the castle guard had not changed for the morning shift, and she anxiously perceived her chance to escape was now or never. If she moved quickly enough, she could slip out unnoticed while the guard changed. There was no doubt about the risk involved. If she were caught, she would be punished severely by the regent and prince, but her fate would be profoundly worse if she stayed. She only had this one chance to escape, and she wasn’t going to allow it slip by without a fight.

Without hesitation, Bulma rushed over to her wardrobe and threw open the doors. She scanned for something, anything, to wear that wouldn’t hinder her running away. All of her dresses were too long to run in, too thin to survive the slightest winter breeze, or too high quality to disguise her as a city commoner. Then, Bulma saw a hidden gold latch at the bottom of her bureau. Odd, she couldn’t remember it being there before. She twisted the latch and a wooden panel slid open to reveal a secret compartment and a single pink cotton dress hidden inside.

As Bulma pulled the dress from the compartment, she suddenly remembered this was the dress she had been wearing when she came to the castle. Zamasu had ordered the dress be destroyed, but Bulma had found the secret compartment and hidden the dress and a leather traveling corset inside. The fabric crinkled in Bulma’s fists. Why did she forget about this dress?

Instead of focusing on questions she wouldn’t be able to answer, Bulma pulled the dress over her head and down her body. Relief flooded her as the dress was a perfect, comfortable fit unlike any of the other dresses in her wardrobe. Where those dresses seemed to be made for someone else with a stick thin build, this light pink dress gave her room to breathe. The sleeves began under her shoulders, offering her plenty of room to move without restriction.

Then she pulled out the leather corset, wrapped it around her waist, and tied it into place. Once again, the corset allowed her room to breathe freely. It offered armor like protection, a detachable purse containing a handful of coin rested on her hip, and, as she ran her hands over the edges, she found a hidden knife compartment concealing a weapon. Bulma gulped as her fingertips touched the silver butt of a knife she held no memory of, and she wished she had known about this knife long before now.

Once dressed, she pulled on water proof winter boots over thick woolen stockings and a fur coat, closing the clasps on her chest with nimble fingers. The coat bore an elegantly embroidered Kingdom of Kai royal crest stitched into the back. Even though she wished for a less conspicuous coat, it was all she had. She could always buy a new coat once she reached the city, but at least this coat’s hood and pockets would hide her brightly colored hair and easily detectable pale skin from the guards. She almost wanted to thank Yamcha for gifting her the near perfect runaway disguise as she slipped out of her room.

As Bulma vigilantly tiptoed toward the stairs, she heard the clanking of metal feet upon stone floors. The guard was initiating their scheduled change. Time to move. At this early stage, their barracks within the West Tower would be emptied and the gate beyond it unwatched. In all their wisdom, none ever considered to survey their own quarters. Their negligence would be her blessing.

Bulma dashed down the stone spiral staircase as swiftly as she possibly could. She reached the archway at the bottom, turned the corner and entered the hall leading to the guards’ chambers.

A voice echoed behind her, but it was close. Her heart hammered as she glimpsed over her shoulder, the voice came from the direction of the archway. “You will be posted outside Lady Bulma’s door. The regent is worried she may be a flight risk. She is not to leave her chambers until Thistle summons her to prepare for the wedding. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain Nettle.” Bulma’s stomach flipped, her hands shook. They would discover her escape any moment now. She had to hurry!

Clinging to the shadows, Bulma dashed through green and orange decorated halls while narrowly avoiding discovery by the servants. She was almost to the guards’ chambers when the castle bells began frantically ringing, signaling the discovery of her empty room.

Every cell in Bulma’s body nervously vibrated as though she had already been caught. What was she going to do now? The guard would be in full alert and every exit would have an extra set of eyes watching it. Her chest heaved. What could she do? She had to get out. She couldn’t spend another day locked in this hell!

Her eyes darted up and down the lengthy hall as the clanging of metal boots and plated armor charged toward her from both ends. She looked for a place to hide, but there was nowhere to go. They were going to find her, take her to the regent, and then throw her in the dungeon or worse—her room. Sure, Yamcha may forgive this transgression for the sake of his crown, but he would never afford her a moment’s privacy thereafter. He would ensure she was accompanied by a guard or handmaid whenever he couldn’t keep an eye on her himself, and she would die, isolated inside her own living body.

Panicked, Bulma did the only thing she could think to do. She ran to the nearest window, threw it open, and climbed out. An open window in the middle of winter would be a dead giveaway, though. She closed it behind her, leaving a small crack so she could climb back in when it was safe, and slipped over the outside ledge.

Her feet stood on a protruding stone while her hands clung onto the window’s edge, and she desperately held on with all her might. The drop to the ground below wasn’t far, but it was enough to break a bone. As she held on, the guards met each other in the hall just outside the window she hid beneath.

“Lady Bulma is missing. The East guard has not seen her on their side, and the West is scouring the secret passages.” Bulma mouthed, ‘Secret passages?’ she cursed, if only she had known about those she probably wouldn’t be hanging from a window at the moment.

A second guardsman gruffly commanded, “I will alert the North. You alert the prince. She’s still in this castle somewhere.”

A third then asked, “What if we cannot locate the girl?”

The second answered, “Prince Yamcha will likely use the Dragon Balls to bring her back.”

“Dragon Balls, sir?”

The first hastily filled in the third, “There isn’t time to go into detail, but they’re small orange orbs which can grant any who find them any wish they ask. Now, get to your posts. Search the castle. Find Lady Bulma!”

“Aye, Captain!”

Bulma attempted to pull herself back through the window after the guards departed, but her foot slipped and her grip on the window’s edge loosed. Suppressing a shriek, Bulma fell while desperately attempting to grasp onto anything that would stop her fall. However, her only saving grace was an oversized camellia bush the gardener neglected. She landed in the bush and groaned as twigs poked into her clothing and tore through any exposed flesh.

Stifling a pained groan, she rolled out of the bush, taking care not to injure herself further. She stood, carefully tested her arms and legs, and sighed as she determined nothing was broken. There would be bruises in the following days, but she had done it. She was out of the castle. Now she simply needed to sneak under the castle walls, but that was the easy part.

Luckily her fall had landed her beside an under observed section of the back wall where a drain hole was cut to remove excessive floodwater from the castle grounds. Despite its small size, it was big enough for her to squeeze through and, despite slimy muck and decaying vegetation, she didn’t waste any time crawling through it.

Once on the other side, Bulma determinedly sprinted toward the river. She could hitch a ride on a boat, perhaps even make money fixing sails and mending fishing nets. No matter whose boat she climbed on, she would ensure the journey was a one way trip, never to return to this imprisoning valley.

Bulma ran between the city’s colorfully painted buildings, her sights pinned on large ship sails poking over the rooftops as she neared the river. The early morning market bustled with citizens eager to begin their day. Bakers purchased the flour and eggs they needed for their breads and pastries while jovially chatting with their neighbors. Fishermen dumped out large nets filled with fresh jumping fish and traded them for coin from the local butcher and innkeepers. Coin exchanged purses, goods left one basket only to end up in another, and mindless chatter filled the spaces between individuals, leaving little room to move about undetected.

Bulma stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd. Her drawn hood gave her the appearance of being too dark and mysterious in comparison to the bright smiling faces surrounding her. The citizens appeared giddy and shopped with purpose while she looked lost and disheveled. She hoped she would be mistaken for a rare traveler as she made her way toward the docks, hoping to find transport while avoiding recognition.

However, her heart sank as she nearly ran into the back of a castle guard. They had beaten her to the river. They marched along the docks, asking the fishermen if they had seen a blue haired woman. They blocked her only hope, her only means of escape.

Scurrying away from them, Bulma tried to find another way to access the river. She peered around the corners of the buildings and attempted to hide in the shadows while allowing herself an observational vantage point. It was impossible to determine how much of the guard occupied the city and there appeared to be many more guards than what seemed reasonable for a city of their size, but she could run upstream in hopes the guard hadn’t made it too far.

As she weighed her options, a guard spotted her and shouted, “There! I found her!”

Bulma spun on her heel, eyes wide and heart racing, and she willed her legs to push beyond their limits; to carry her as far and fast as possible away from him. The guard pointed directly at her and soon a crescendo of metal boots smacking against stone roads filled the city, chasing after her. Desperate, Bulma darted between the shops, carelessly shoving early morning shoppers out of her way. A baker cursed at her as she caused him to drop the eggs he just purchased, an unobservant traveler shouted “thief!” as she opportunely yanked his horse’s reins from his unclenched hand, but a few dozen of the guardsmen had horses too.

The guards boisterously shouted at her. Bulma flicked the reins and kicked the horse, desperately urging him to run faster. Sweat rolled down her temples as she anxiously looked over her shoulder. The guards neared with every gallop, placing large swaths of distance between her and the river, driving her toward the menacing ominous mountains.

The mountains loomed ahead of her, but she paid no heed to the disconnected shadows sauntering between the trees. Her every thought was consumed by the men hunting her down and threatening to drag her back to that forsaken castle. The horse’s nostrils fearfully flared as they neared the base, but Bulma didn’t care. She needed to get out, she could almost taste the freedom she craved, and if the river weren’t an option, the mountains would have to be.

Bulma spotted a trench dug all along the border of the town and a low barbed fence on the opposite side. Chunks of black rotting flesh clung onto the metal barbs, their stench filling the air, making her stomach churn. Tips of sharpened spears poked from the trench, but every eye within was trained on the mountain, the city and her hasty approach completely ignored by the soldiers resting within the deep, narrow pit.

She tightened her grip around the reins, her wrists flicked, and her feet kicked the horse’s sides. He responded, allowing her anxious persistence to fuel his thick muscles, and leapt into the air. Bulma held her breath as she and her horse floated over the trench. This was it. Either her horse would fall short, or it would land on the far side of the wire and take them both to a place neither ever thought they would willingly, eagerly enter.

Battle worn soldiers clung onto broken spears and bloodied swords inside the trenches. They surveyed the mountain, tired yet determined, and gasped as they witnessed a horse leap over their heads and land on the opposite side of the fence. Confused shouts erupted from the trenches. No one had ever been stupid enough to willingly jump into The Black Mountains, and they were not equipped to go in after her.

Bulma’s horse paused for a moment upon landing safely inside the forest; his sides heaved, his legs quaked. She looked back at the guards and soldiers. None dared come in after her. Their hollering was incoherent as more than fifty men shouted in her direction, but, to their dismay, she smirked, flicked her horse’s reins and ran excitedly toward the trees where hungry eyes watched her from within the shadows.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. A family member has been in the hospital this week (not Covid related) so I've been a little swamped taking care of things. Hope you enjoy this new chapter. Please be advised there are plenty of potential triggers in this chapter to include major character deaths, war, and wiping out royal bloodlines which includes child deaths.

Prince Vegeta paced in front of the throne room doors. His three younger brothers waited alongside him while Queen Eschalot’s lady-in-waiting carried his baby sister. Two hundred Saiyans gathered inside the throne room, patiently waiting for the ceremony to begin, though it was ten minutes past the scheduled start time. Where was his father?

Vegeta walked the length of the war room, his heel nearly tearing the red carpet beneath his foot as he spun to march up toward the doors. Surely nothing had happened to his father? The castle would be buzzing with healers and doctors if his father’s health had suddenly failed. And what about his mother? It was unlike either of them to run this far behind schedule. Typically they were as punctual as the rooster’s morning crow.

Nappa, the general of the Saiyan army, determinedly marched inside the war room after twenty minutes had passed. He respectfully dropped to one knee before the small prince and placed a firm fist over his heart.

“Young prince, I regret to inform you I will not be in attendence today. Furthermore, I must collect our military from the throne room.”

The prince’s brows pinched together. “What’s going on?”

Nappa’s obsidian eyes fell to the ground. He was there when this child grew in his mother’s belly, he held him moments after King Vegeta held him for the first time, he trained the boy in combat when his father’s health failed him, and just last week he watched as the boy played hide and seek with the other children residing in the castle. How was he supposed to tell this soon to be boy king, burdened before his time, that war would soon knock upon the castle gates?

“I have already informed the king—,” Nappa began only to be cut off.

“I will be king soon, Nappa! I demand to know what’s going on!”

“Prince Vegeta!” King Vegeta approached his son from the doorway and sternly explained, “All will be revealed concluding the ceremony. For now, General Nappa, gather your troops. Hold them off as we discussed. I need only ten minutes to complete the spell.”

Nappa stood, bowed to the king and pulled open the doors to the throne room. The guests turned toward the door, hoping to see their king and prince, but found a concerned burly Saiyan General marching toward the thrones. He halted just before the throne’s platform and turned toward the guests.

“Proud Sadala, apologies for the delay and subsequent interruption. I must recall our armies to the battlement. Troops, gather your armor and weapons. Medics, gather your supplies. Mages, prepare your spells. We leave immediately.”

An uproar sounded throughout the throne room. What was going on? Were they under attack? What were they up against? No rumors of attack had been heard for the last five years. So what or who imposed now?

Nappa rose his hands to quiet them, but the motion was lost as fear blanketted over the civilians like an early morning fog settling upon a grape vineyard. Then, a single booming voice cut through their consternation.

“Silence!” King Vegeta entered the hall, stoicly walking toward Nappa. However, unlike Nappa, he stood on the ledge, looking back to his children who gathered at the throne room door. “The Kingdom of Kai has sent malicious mages. Their shadow army approaches the city gates as we speak, but we will not give in to their intrusion. Members of the royal army, follow your general’s command. Now.”

The only sounds heard after King Vegeta’s command were the clamouring of metal boots making their way toward the war room. The princes stepped aside to allow a hundred or so men and women through, each of their faces hardened and battle ready, undetered by the threat presenting itself. Prince Vegeta recognized many of the faces marching past him, and he wondered how many of them would return. Would his first act as king be to hang a valiant warrior’s weapons in this room?

The last soldier exited the war room, the prince turned to look back at his father. Standing on the ledge, commanding the very air in the room, Vegeta thought his father looked healthier than he had been in the last eleven months. He stood tall, proud, and prepared. His energy was calm and collected, not a single whisp of fear or chaos swirled around him. It was then he recalled their earlier conversation.

‘Do not let them know you are afraid. Keep your head high and push beyond the limits of what is possible. Keep going, keep pressing, and do not look back.’

The prince’s eyes rounded. The king appeared stronger than ever. Was his father afraid right now?

A cool hand touched his shoulder. Vegeta looked up to his mother who stared ahead at her husband while advising her son, “When an enemy approaches, do not falter. Do not tarry. Hold your head high and give them your worst.”

“Mother…”

“I will be at your side, my son.” She glanced down to Vegeta, distant images of wars gone by reflected in her dark eyes. “Until the very end. However near or far that may be.”

The prince’s heart hammered against his ribs. What weren’t they saying? The Kingdom of Kai was invading, but who were the Kai? He had never heard of them before. Why would they attack today of all days?

Fear gripped the boy in its vicious talons. However, the king waved his son forth. It was like a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare. Vegeta couldn’t feel his legs moving, but he floated past the few dozen remaining guests regardless.

“Under normal circumstances, a coronation would be postponed until the current impending threat was appropriately handled. However, we have not been blessed with normal circumstances by any means. My son, I reluctantly hand over the throne to your young hands admist a dire threat. You must lead us, but I know you will do so with great bravery, unfathomable integrity, and unyielding pride.”

The prince was suddenly standing before his father, his siblings close behind while his mother carried her months old daughter. King Vegeta lifted his hand to slip the ring off his finger. He rose it so the guests could see. “This ring signifies your duty to this kingdom. When you wear it, you are bound to us all. Your life becomes theirs, your heart must beat for them, and your breath must be used to voice selfless decisions. Do you understand, my son?”

Prince Vegeta nodded and watched as his father slipped the enormous ring onto his right hand ring finger. The ring could have easily fit his entire hand inside, but as the ruby captured his reflection, it began sizing itself to match the wearer. It shrank until the metal touched his finger on all sides, the metal still warm from his father’s wear.

“Recite the spell and become King Vegeta.”

Just as he had practiced, Vegeta turned to his people, knelt onto one knee and recited the free verse poem the spell required,  
“Two Saiyan brothers of old conquered this land,  
With naught but an axe and sword, they fell an army of ten thousand.  
The fallen king’s blood ran ruby red,  
Staining the eldest’s diamond ring, cursing him to betrayal and death.  
With victory came jealousy, greed and hate,  
The youngest brother struck down the eldest Saiyan.  
A second curse fell upon the brothers;  
Should they or their decendants abuse their authority  
The ring will claim all Saiyan lives, starting with—.”

A sudden blast shook the castle, interrupting the Prince’s spell. The sleeping babe in her mother’s arms shrieked as she was jolted awake. His three younger brothers ran to the King and clung to his legs. The remaining guests knocked into one another as the floor rumbled beneath them while shouts of the castle guards were abruptly cut off.

King Vegeta and Queen Eschalot exchanged a single look before leaping into action. While he barked orders for the guests to exit through a secret passage below the throne’s ledge, Eschalot shoved the baby into Prince Vegeta’s hands before she and the king pulled open a hidden door which blended into the white tiled floor. The castle guests hurried inside and followed the tunnel to safety just outside the castle gates.

Meanwhile, Vegeta and his siblings were held back. The queen grabbed Vegeta’s shoulder and started pulling him and her children toward the war room. “Watch after your brothers and sister. You will take the secret passage in the war room. It will take you to the pub on the western side of the city. Wait there for us. Your father and I will collect you when it’s safe.”

“But, Mother!” Vegeta’s childlike eyes reflected a fear not seen in her own. A crack of lightning sounded in a nearby corridor.

“They’re here,” she whispered breathlessly. For the first time, Vegeta saw a brief moment of terror ripple over her features as she looked to her five small defenseless children. Then, in an instant, the fear was replaced by fierce determination. She grabbed two swords from the wall, stood in front of her children, and blocked them from two men who appeared at the entrance of the war room.

“My, what have we here? A queen protecting her children?” Vegeta didn’t recognize the voice, but as he peered around his mother’s legs, he saw two green men, one radiating with electrifying magic and the other weilding a broadsword.

“Wherever is your king husband? He should be here to protect you. You need it now more than ever.”

Vegeta turned to gaze beyond the throne room where he found his father on all fours in front of his throne, desperately grasping at his chest, unable to move as the tumor ceased blood flow to his heart. A sharp crack of lightning drew his attention back to his mother, but he only witnessed her flying backwards, over his head, and into the throne room. Her swords scattered to either side of her limp body.

“Mother!” Vegeta cried out as she crashed into her dying husband. Her head slammed against the ledge, immediately drawing blood.

Ruby blood spilled into his vision. Vegeta’s sister was suddenly in his oldest brother’s arms and he was lunging at the two men. Fists flew before him, connecting against the faces of each surprised man. The older of the two men fell to the floor and rubbed his jaw, but was quickly met with a hard, swift kick to his ear. The younger man, the spell caster who hit his mother, felt four kicks to his stomach, nine punches to his face, and one painful blow to his manhood before he even saw the child rushing at him.

The magician shouted, “STOP!” while clenching his groin and holding his breath. Time in the room slowed to a complete halt, freezing Vegeta in place, his fist a centimeter from colliding with the spell caster’s jugular.

The eldest man glanced to the youngest as he rose to his feet. “It appears this one is quiet the handful.”

The magician nodded, but his slipped and breathed too soon, releasing the hold he conjured over the spell. Vegeta’s knuckles cracked hard against the magician’s face, bruising if not fracturing his cheekbone. The green man fell to the floor, grasping at his cheek. He was an accomplished wizard, how the hell was this kid able to come near him let alone hit him?

His counterpart must have thought similarly. As Vegeta pounced to attack the elder with a vicious onslaught of attacks, the man dropped to his knees and waited for his friend to cast a new spell. A jagged stream of brilliant blue light engulfed the small boy, paralyzing his body, suspending him midair. Grotesque pops sounded from Vegeta’s joints as his bones relocated themselves into a new position, and a million tiny plates of silver no bigger than a coin grew from his skin.

Immediately, the shrieks of Vegeta’s siblings sounded throughout the war room as they huddled together, too terrified to move or run away. They cried out for their parents, they screamed for Prince Vegeta. Three terrified voices and the sharp wailing of a crying baby cut through the spell without rendering it ineffective.

“Gowasu! Hurry up! I won’t be able to hold him forever!” The younger of the two men shouted above the crying children.

“Fine, but first to shut these kids up!” Gowasu fastened his hold on his broadsword and approached the children. Vegeta strained against the spell, desperate to be free to protect his siblings. However, the spell caster was focused. So long as his concentration remained, Vegeta would not be able to break the curse.

Vegeta screamed with anguish as the first gurgle of blood filled his oldest brother’s throat. He strained with all of his childhood might as the second gurgle reached his ears, and he cried out for his father as Tarble fell lifeless to the ground. Tears rolled down his silver plated cheeks as his sister suddenly stopped crying.

Every bone in Vegeta’s body raged with agony. Despite the curse, Vegeta’s eyes shifted around the room. He memorized these men’s faces and swore he’d rip them apart the moment he was freed. Come hell and high water, he would shred their bodies until only scraps of unrecognizable flesh remained.

Shrieks sounded from the throne room as Queen Eschalot awoke and found her family in the war room. She agressively screeched, her eyes turned white in a fit of berserker rage. Without looking, she instinctively found her swords and charged at Gowasu, swinging left and right, as her twin blades worked together as one cohesive unit.

Gowasu ripped a shield off the wall and dodged her slaughter. The shield reflected and pushed back against the blades, metal slammed against her jaw. The queen stumbled back a step, but quickly regained her footing. Her blades whipped around, crossed in front of Gowasu’s neck and would have sheered his head from his shoulders if the magician hadn’t leapt into the battle.

Prince Vegeta crashed onto the floor. He tried to stand, but every fiber of his body felt out of place, dismantled, and shoved somewhere it didn’t belong. His legs bent backwards, his palms felt rough against the grey tile, and his vision glowed red. His mind was a haze and unable to process what happened to him.

Then, Vegeta finally heard his father’s voice. It was weak, strained with pain, but he was alive and standing at his queen’s side with his hands guiding the path of a heavy battle axe. The king looked to his son, his eyes wide with horror, as he shouted, “Vegeta! Get to the mountains! Our armies are waiting for you there! Go!”

But, Father. He tried to say, but his throat was dry and words would not form. Then, in the blink of an eye, the axe slammed into the floor as Gowasu’s sword rammed through the king’s heart. Vegeta’s voice finally cracked, screams ripped out of him, calling out to his father.

Chaotic energy swirled around Queen Eschalot. It cracked the ground beneath her feet, shook the walls, and toppled countless weapons from their metal brackets. She yelled at her only remaining family member, “GO!”

The power in her voice scurried Vegeta’s legs into action. He had never felt power so raw, so unfettered and untrammeled. He rushed toward the door, but as he did, he looked over his shoulder to his mother one last time. She raised her blades to the men and commanded them, “Do your worst.”

A moment later, Vegeta was thrown from the war room as a bolt of lightning left the mage’s fingertips and richochetted off of the queen. It struck Vegeta’s shoulder, hurled him down the hallway, and threw him against the crumbled remains of the castle doors. Vegeta hadn’t heard his mother scream or cry out, but he knew she was defeated. For the first time in her life, she lost a battle. And just as Vegeta feared, when the time came to reclaim this castle, his first act as king would be to hang the most valiant warriors' weapons on the war room wall, starting with Queen Eschalot's.


	5. Chapter 5

Prince Yamcha paced along the edge of a forest green rug. The thin stripe of green laid in stark contrast to the white quartz tiles covering the throne room floor. He paced toward heavy white stone double doors, each carefully carved with the Kingdom of Kai crest at its center and ornately carved twists elegantly lined the edges. He turned on his heel upon reaching the doors and paced toward the platform the thrones sat upon. 

Enormous orange banners hung from the ceiling and fell to the floor behind two gold thrones with red cushions. The tips of each triangular banner kissed the floor, suspending their regal green crest half way between the floor and thirty foot ceiling. The throne room declared the ownership of this kingdom to all who entered it, and sitting upon the king’s throne was none other than Yamcha’s uncle and regent, Lord Zamasu. 

In addition to the normal decorations, the throne room was adorned with white lace drapes hanging from the rafters and kissing the floor. Carnation wreaths were wrapped around each white marbled pillar while the tantalyzing scent of a coronation feast wafted toward them from the kitchens. Yamcha’s frustration grew as each bloom and scent silently mocked him, reminding him of how close he had come to being crowned king before Bulma’s selfish disappearance.

Zamasu rested against the back of the throne while drumming his fingers on the armrest. His pallid green skin caused him to look like a misplaced Easter egg against the vibrant bold colors. His insouciant pale grey eyes followed Yamcha’s movements up and down the rug, and he apathetically wondered if the boy would wear a hole in it. Their impatience hung thick in the air as they awaited the news of Lady Bulma’s safe return, but Yamcha’s optimism waned with each passing minute while Zamasu carelessly wondered when he might be able to return to his chambers. 

“It’s taking them too long to find her!” Yamcha shouted as his pacing transformed into stomping. “What am I supposed to do if they don’t bring her back? Our laws state I cannot be king without a wife to produce heirs!”

“Calm yourself, Prince. All will be well with time.” Lord Zamasu rested his cheek on his fist and yawned. “They’ll find her. I have the utmost confidence in our competent guardsmen.”

“But what if they don’t?”

“Well, we can find you a new bride. You seem to fair quite well with the lovely young maidens of this realm. Why not select one of them?”

Yamcha hung his head. “Bulma was the most beautiful one of all. I must marry her. I deserve such beauty sitting upon the throne beside me. It’s true love, uncle!”

“Perhaps, yes. But a pretty face is not all to consider when weighing your options.”

Yamcha stopped his pacing and frowned at Zamasu. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, for starters, a woman must know her place. Bulma was astonishingly vociferous and quite vulgar. The probability she would rather rule your court than sit unobtrusively at your side was far too great.”

Yamcha looked down at his feet and resumed his pacing as he spoke, “Perhaps you are right. Just this morning she wouldn’t stop speaking. She asked me four questions. That’s far more than my mother ever spoke.”

“Mm, yes.” Zamasu hummed as he pictured Lady Maron. “Your mother was an exceptional queen. Beautiful, reserved, and well suited to rear such a fine young prince.”

Their conversation abruptly ended as the heavy stone doors opened. Both Zamasu and Yamcha sanguinely looked to the approaching guard, hopeful to learn of Bulma’s safe return. However, Captain Nettle, a squatty burly man whose beard hid most of his red toned face, knelt before them with his head hanging uncharacteristically low, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his despairing message. “Lord Zamasu, Prince Yamcha.”

Yamcha held his breath and his hands fidgeted while waiting to hear of his fiancé’s return. However, no such news came. As the guard spoke, Yamcha’s heart sank into his stomach. 

“We spotted Lady Bulma by the river. We pursued, but she stole a traveler’s horse and disappeared into the Black Mountains. My men followed after her for as long as we dared, but the shadows are long and I fear the night crawlers will devour her before we can find her. The men at the border are keeping a watchful eye for any signs of the lady. We will inform you immediately if we find her.”

Zamasu stood as Yamcha fell to his knees, clasped his hands behind his back and ordered, “You will post your most experienced guards at the point where she crossed into the forest. From there, General 17 will lead an expedition into the forest to find Lady Bulma. You will bring her home alive.”

“My lord! General 17 will agree with me, any attempts to enter the forest would be a suicide mission! We have no hope of finding Lady Bulma alive. Our men should not be deployed to retrieve the tattered remains of her corpse and face certain death themselves.”

A deep scowl lined Zamasu’s forehead. “You will do as commanded. Finding Lady Bulma is of the utmost importance. For the sake of our kingdom and my nephew’s peace of mind, you will find what is left of her and bring it back no matter the cost. If you are this concerned over the safety of your men, then you should not have failed in your responsibilities of guarding this castle. Are we understood?”

The captain’s nostrils flared, but he conceded. “Aye, Lord Zamasu.”

“You are dismissed.” Nettle, infuriated, swiftly exited the throne room. Zamasu turned to Yamcha whose face turned faintly green. “We will find her, my nephew. Don’t worry.”

Yamcha shook his head, his heart sank as his stomach rose. He thought he might lose the hearty breakfast he had scarfed down while Bulma made her escape. “How can you be sure? You know better than I of the horrors living on that mountain range.”

Zamasu helped the prince back to his feet and placed his hands on Yamcha’s shoulders. He smiled reassuringly to his nephew. “I have faith. While this outcome is most unfortunate, it won’t hurt to postpone your coronation until we are certain of Lady Bulma’s fate. Now, why don’t you go lie down? You look unwell.”

Yamcha nodded and turned to leave. His feet shuffled ever so slowly while he held back frustrated tears. He came so close to gaining the throne. One day. Just one single day and a wedding were all that had separated him from his red and gold throne, but now his aspirations were a distant blur he might never attain. At least, one he wouldn’t achieve with Bulma by his side. 

The door swung shut behind Yamcha, and Zamasu turned toward one of the windows facing the Black Mountains. He imagined Bulma’s lifeless corpse somewhere in the woods and the monster who would inevitably mindlessly rip his claws through her. Then he turned toward the throne and took his place upon it once more. The captain’s fateful news was not unlike the news he received many years ago. 

As Zamasu drummed his fingertips on the golden arm of the throne, his eyes reflected distant memories. However, despite the two and a half decades since receiving that news, the moment never truly felt that far away. In fact, he remembered it as clearly as though it happened the day before. That memory along with the others following it were as fresh on his mind as the snowfall on the ground. 

He sat on the throne then just as he did now. Only his fingertips followed the gold inlay instead of drumming against it, memorizing every gentle curve and twisting design. Technically, it was treason to sit upon the throne at that time as Gowasu reigned over this dominion while Zamasu served dutifully beside him as high mage. Gowasu left the kingdom to Zamasu’s care as he ventured off to a foreign land, but Zamasu had not been able to resist sitting upon the throne, curious to determine if it was as comfortable as it appeared. Moments after settling into the chair, the then Lieutenant Nettle burst into the throne room, dripping blood onto the rug, though the rug had seen bloodier days. 

Lieutenant Nettle ignored Zamasu’s treason as he delivered the news which ultimately gave Zamasu the right to sit upon this throne. Gowasu and Lady Maron had been slain. Their ship was destroyed, sunk to the bottom of the strait, and the crew aboard met a similar watery grave. Not a soul remained except for Lieutenant Nettle who fought a terrifying night crawler, a silver flying demon who breathed fire and shrouded the river in a cloud of ash. 

Before the Lieutenant could complete his story, Lord Zamasu stepped down from the throne and hurried through the castle to his nephew’s room where he slept in quiet peaceful slumber. As Zamasu entered the boy’s room, he could almost see the sweet dreams dancing over Yamcha’s head, tiny teddy bears and sprinkles of rainbows spun together in wonderful harmony. But as the boy roused, as Zamasu informed him of his orphaning, he regretted being the one to wake him into this nightmare.

Days slowly passed as teams searched the water to recover the remains of the king and queen. Once their charred water bloated corpses had been located, a closed casket royal burial commenced. The city’s inhabitants lined the streets, mourning the tragic passing, praising the young sniffling boy who followed the funeral parade by Zamasu’s side. 

Back in the present, Zamasu’s drumming fingers curled up into his palm as he remembered the way Yamcha clung onto him for the reminder of his youth. The boy was barely out of his toddler years when Gowasu and Maron had been taken from him, and as a result, the small prince was reluctant to part from his uncle. His little hand always found its way into Zamasu’s. 

Zamasu’s fist squeezed just as it always had whenever Yamcha’s chubby hand found his, only now the emptiness of adulthood left Zamasu’s hand abandoned and conflicted. It was never easy for a parent to watch their child grow, but in Yamcha’s case, Zamasu was almost thankful for it. He was thankful for the fine young man who had taken his baby nephew’s place. 

Zamasu observed his fist uncurl and flatten, his palm facing the rafters. There was a time when his own hand sought comfort in another’s. His eyes clouded as an unseen chartreuse hand wrapped around his small fern green hand and offered rough tugging pulls. That hand yanked him away from the wartorn shambles of the city surrounding them. 

As Zamasu envisioned his elder brother’s hand, he heard the faint distant explosions of war blasting all around him. He heard the screams of terrorized civilians, and he felt the summer sun’s heat on the back of his neck as a teenaged Gowasu lead them away from their burning home. Before each waking nightmare faded from the forefront of Zamasu’s memory, he witnessed his brother turn back to him, the light of childhood innocence snuffed from his eyes. 

The banners behind the thrones caught an unknown draft and waved silently behind Zamasu. There was a time when this room looked much different, when red and gold banners hung behind the throne. However, he couldn’t care less for those dreadful days. The kings of old were a mockery. Their steadfast belief of great personal power couldn’t hold a candle to his own. Kings and Queens fell, drenching the halls of this splendid castle with their blood, but he and his brother reclaimed it. They took back what had been ripped from them, and they did so without a shred of mercy. 

Bulma’s face crept into his mind. Then again, perhaps he had shown some mercy. He did allow the girl to live afterall, and what better life could she have had than a home in this castle with Prince Yamcha? 

* * * * * * *

“Where did he go?” Gowasu shouted at the mage. “How could you lose hold of him?!”

“If you bothered to learn any real magic, _brother_ , he would still be in my clutches. Most spells require two hands. Since you couldn’t take care of the queen, I did what needed to be done and let go of the boy to subdue the queen myself. Learn some magic before we overthrow the next kingdom so I won’t have to do everything.”

“Silence, insolent fool. Find him, or my first act as king will be to throw you in the dungeons.”

The youngest kai fumed, “You’re not king yet. You need the ring.”

“Indeed.” Gowasu frowned at his brother as he unsheathed his blood stained sword. He crossed the war room to where King Vegeta’s lifeless body lay limp on the cold stone floor. With the tip of the sword, he examined each of the king’s empty hands. “It’s not here. That’s not possible. Zamasu! Where could it have gone?!”

Zamasu stepped into the throne room and glanced around the uncommon decorations embellishing it. Toppled bouquets of white carnations spilled throughout the room, red banners were wrapped around the marble stone pillars, and rows of wooden seats lined either side of the carpet which led to the thrones. A savory scent wafted from the now demolished kitchens as black flames burned a hearty feast. Had the timing of their attack been less than fortuitous for them? He turned and studied the king from afar, he had barely posed a threat before his demise. In fact, he appeared sickly and frail unlike his beastly son. 

“Brother, could it be we interrupted the prince’s coronation?”

Gowasu’s brows pinched together. “If so, that would mean he possesses the ring. Find him! Now!”

Vegeta stumbled through the remains of the castle doors. It was gone. Everyone. Everything. His family, his home, his life, and destiny. It was all gone. There was nothing—no one left. Nothing. 

His claw caught a fractured stone causing him to fall awkwardly onto his shoulder. A tail suddenly slapped his face—was it his? It didn’t look like his normal tail, but it strangely swayed as he stood on four unfamiliar silver scaled legs with clawed feet attached to each of them. Was this a result of the spell the magician struck him with? 

His body didn’t feel like his body anymore. His vision appeared red tinted, his bones cracked in odd angles, and his muscles moved unfamiliarly, preventing him from standing upright. A high pitched screaming pierced his ears. He looked beyond the castle gates to find the source of the sound was not from the after effects of a spell, nor from the blast’s shock ringing in his ears. 

“Bulma!” Vegeta rushed toward a dirty, bloodied, and terrified toddler, but his uncoordinated feet tripped over every rock and pebble. His hind legs ran to the right while his forelegs ran to the left. His tail uncontrollably slapped against the ground, but he forced himself forward nonetheless. 

“Bulma.” Vegeta looked the girl over from head to toe. Dried blood beaded on her plethora of minor scrapes, but she didn’t appear to have suffered any significant injuries otherwise. Though the same couldn’t be said for her parents. Vegeta found them lying ten feet away with large chunks of splintered rock piercing through their lifeless corpses. They were too close to the gate when it was blown apart, presumably protecting their daughter when it occurred, running away from the coronation.

The girl continued to hysterically wail. Fear consumed her, her parents’s comfort eluded her. Like him, she had nothing and no one left. 

“Shh, Bulma. Quiet down and follow me. I’m getting you out of here.” 

The girl finally looked up at him and shrieked, “DRAGONNNN!!!!”

Vegeta’s eyes rounded. Dragon? Where? “No, Bulma, it’s me. Vegeta.”

His red glowing eyes frightened her, but his familiar voice soothed her. “Beegeeba?”

“Yes, Beegeeba. Follow me. I need to get you out of here and convene with our military on the mountains.” 

Bulma stood and touched his silver face, uncertain of what he was, but felt an innocent familiarity in the way he looked after her. “Geeba where’s Tarble?”

A harsh knot squeezed his throat. “He’s not coming, Bulma. Now, follow me and don’t look at anything. I’ll let you play with my cape tomorrow if you promise not to look at anything besides the ground.”

“’Kay.”

As promised, Bulma followed Vegeta through the city while staring at the ground. He warned her when she needed to watch out for a hole or debris, and he prevented her from witnessing mangled burning corpses, no doubt murdered by the invader’s army. Night fell as they neared the outskirts of the city. A sudden ash storm blew over them from the mountains, chaffing Bulma’s skin and filling their eyes with soot. 

Vegeta guided Bulma inside of a mostly intact house. “We’ll be safe in here for a little while. Once the storm passes, we will head up the mountain.”

Bulma yawned as Vegeta tugged her toward a quiet corner of the house which seemed to be mostly clear of debris. “Geeba, where’s mommy and daddy?”

Vegeta shook his head uncertainly. How could he tell this girl her parents were gone? This wasn’t the same as informing a widow her husband perished heroically in battle. Doctor Briefs and Paunchy were civilians. They weren’t supposed to die this way. Their daughter wasn’t supposed to live life without them at this young age. Bulma wasn’t prepared for this harsh reality, and he wasn’t prepared to deliver the news.   


Vegeta awkwardly attempted to wrap his arms around Bulma, offering comfort to her much like he once did to his younger siblings, but only his tail responded. It wrapped around her and pulled her toward his side where he was then able to hook an arm around her. “I’ll tell you in the morning. Sleep for now.”

Relief flooded him as she pet his nose, rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Her Saiyan tail wrapped around his arm, squeezing gently. A moment later she whispered, “Geeba?”

“Hm?”

“Sorry I broked-ed the castle. Tarble and me sneaked our broccoli into the air vent yesterday and I think it blew up. Can you fix it?”

The dragon gently tightened his tail around her and mumbled, “For once it’s not your fault something broke, you little monster. Now sleep or I won’t let you play with my cape.”

“But I wanna play with your cape so I can make believe I’m you!”

“Well then, you better go to sleep.”

Vegeta watched as the three year old closed her weary eyes, unaware her life was nothing like it had been when she woke that morning. She wouldn’t wake this time to her mother’s gentle hand pushing the hair from her face, her father wouldn’t make pancakes with blueberry and whipped cream smiley faces. She wouldn’t visit the castle to play with Tarble. They wouldn’t wreak havoc on the royal family’s valuables. 

Mist formed in the corners of Vegeta’s eyes. His father had prepared him for his royal duties, but he hadn’t taught him how to live without his family. He hadn’t taught him how to tell a toddler that her whole world had been upended. He hadn’t prepared him for _this._

As ash settled on the city, Zamasu followed small sparkling purple lights throughout the city. The tracking spell he cast followed a trail of clumbsy claw scratches marring the city’s stone roads, confirming Zamasu’s spell accuracy. He followed the trail to a small house near the base of the mountain, Gowasu trailed close behind. 

“He’s up ahead. Inside that small house.”

“I’m surprised he’s still in the city.”

Zamasu raised an arched brow. “It appears he picked up a stray who slowed him down more than his own transformed body.”

“Ah, someone he cares about? Excellent leverage.”

“Yes, brother. He will surrender that ring. There is no doubt.”

They peered in through a shattered window to find the sleeping dragon prince curled around a small blue haired girl. Zamasu raised his hands, willed the sleeping girl to rise from the dragon’s hold and float through the air toward him. Bulma woke with a startled scream the moment her skin met unfamiliar cold green hands.

Vegeta’s eyes shot open, he leapt to his hindlegs, faltered, and crashed to the floor. His red eyes glowered as Gowasu chuckled. “It seems he still isn’t familiar with his new body, Zamasu. We may not even need the child to take the ring from him.”

Ring? Vegeta growled and looked at his right hand. Where the ring had been placed, a red blur now discolored his claws and no physical ring could be seen. 

Zamasu followed Vegeta’s gaze and realized this most egregious error. The ring melded into the dragon’s body during the transformation. He could break the curse placed on Vegeta, but a failed or broken curse always inflicted a severe punishment on the one who cast it. Petty spells demanded petty binding actions such as a drop of blood on the tip of a needle, but this curse was anything but miniscule. Vegeta’s life was contained in this dragon form, but if the curse was broken, Zamasu’s own life would be immediately forfeit. There was no way around the curse’s demands.

Uncontrollable rage filled Zamasu. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched, and he tossed the shrieking girl aside. How many mistakes could he make in a single attack? This mistake, turning the prince before obtaining the ring, could very well cost them this kingdom. His angrily shaking hands rose toward the dragon. Azure sparks tore through the distance between them, casting a blue paralyzing aura around him once more. 

“The ring has transformed as well, but it will return to normal once removed from his body. You must cut off his hand, Gowasu.” 

Gowasu nodded, withdrew his sword and stepped to Vegeta’s side. “With pleasure.”

Bulma shrank in horror as the sound of the sword thunked against Vegeta’s arm, a responding roar ripped from Vegeta’s throat. “Geeba?” She whispered, but then a sudden flare overcame her. She ran toward Zamasu, leapt in the air, and sank her teeth into his arm. The spell weakened as his attention diverted, and Vegeta’s tail slapped Gowasu, throwing him through two walls. 

Zamasu jerked his arm. Bulma briefly fell to the ground, but she stood and shouted, “No one hurts my Geeba!” She then sank her teeth back into Zamasu’s arm. She kicked and hit the green wizard as she bit. Her surprisingly strong tiny fists bruised him and cracked a few of his ribs. 

Livid, Gowasu stood, dusted himself, and shouted. “Enough!”

Power resonated in his command. Suddenly Bulma felt herself frozen in place, and it appeared Vegeta did too. Neither of them blinked or breathed. Zamasu seized that moment to toss Bulma from his person, he rose one hand to her and the other to Vegeta. Blue surrounded them both and he nodded to his brother to resume cutting off Vegeta’s hand. Bulma cried as Vegeta’s agonizing helpless screams clouded her senses. 

Try as they might, the hand wouldn’t come off. Gowasu’s blade was too dull to cut through the dragon’s hardened body, though a bit of petty magic did break through the scales. Vegeta’s bloodied half cut arm flopped painfully while he remained paralyzed. 

Gowasu shook his head and rested on the remains of a cushioned chair. “We will never break through the bone at this rate.”

“Can we not rule another way? Must we possess the ring?”

“If we want the citizens of this country to be loyal without protest, yes.”

Zamasu shook his head. “I may have another way. Memory spells are easy and the Saiyans have already laid the ground work to perform the spells I have in mind.”

“At this rate, that may be our only option. However, we must rid ourselves of the prince and ensure he can never return.”

Zamasu smirked. “I believe my curse placed on the mountain and the Saiyan army can solve that problem with ease.”

“Fine. Do as you wish. My victory is all that matters here. If we cannot take the ring, I will settle for taking their memories.”

“What of the girl? She’s seen too much. A simple memory charm will not be enough to erase these events.”

Gowasu shrugged. “I see no use for her, do you?”

Vegeta, half unconscious from pain, perked and strained against the magical hold. He instinctively knew they intended to dole out a fate similar to his siblings. He flared his energy, determined to break free, and shouted, “Leave her alone!”

“Oh,” Zamasu chortled, “It appears the girl’s impending death has given new life to our dragon prince. He’s actually making it difficult to maintain my hold. I wonder if he can before I—.”

A second later Vegeta heard Bulma’s scream cut off and a thump sounded as her small lifeless body fell to the ground. Seething fury pumped through Vegeta’s veins. No! Not another one! Hadn’t he seen enough of his family murdered already?! 

His energy expanded, it burned at the paralyzing aura, and suddenly he was freed. His tail whipped at Gowasu, unexpected fire leapt from his mouth toward Zamasu. His claws punctured Gowasu and tore through Zamasu. However, the mage took hold of Vegeta with the paralysis spell once again. He lifted the dragon into the air and whispered a spell which slung him into the distant mountainside. 

Gowasu nodded approvingly toward Zamasu and made his way back to the road, the castle summoning him to declare his reign. Zamasu followed suit, but paused at the sleeping little blue haired girl. It never did feel right killing children at this age. If she became a nuisance later, he would take her life then, but not before she was old enough to fight back and offer a satisfying challenge. 

Still, he thought to himself as he crouched down beside her, he couldn’t allow her to grow into her full powerful potential. A confident hand grabbed hold of her tail. He would let her live for now, but not with her tail.


	6. Chapter 6

A plume of ash, splintered trees, and forest debris burst upward with Vegeta’s forceful impact into the side of the mountain. Every muscle in his body painfully twitched while a pounding headache split his head in two. For a moment, the dragon laid defeated on the ground, uncertain if rising this time would be considered valiant or pathetic. Everything was gone, taken in the blink of an eye. Even if he found a way to reclaim the castle, he would never be able to bring back his family. What point would there be to ruling without them?

A sharp thornlike prick burned at his side, but as Vegeta laid there, he determined this pain was his punishment for failing. His first day as king was so underwhelmingly inglorious that he was unable finish the spell and truly become King Vegeta. He may still wear the ring, but it was inactive and therefore ineffectual in crowning him king. Vegeta glanced at his bloodied half sheered hand and chuckled darkly; forever doomed to be Prince Vegeta.

The night blurred by without much notice. Vegeta’s consciousness drifted in and out while shock and self loathing tormented his young mind. The pain in his side continued, but as the earth below him turned into mud, he still failed to notice the thornlike pain was no petty plant.

The sun rose and sank in what felt like a little less than an hour, but how could he know the time when his eyelids refused to stay open for longer than ten minutes? A vicious cycle of dreaded wakefulness followed by restless nightmares kept him from rising out of the mud. There simply was not enough energy left in his body to move even if he wanted to.

After a week, or possibly only a few hours, four midnight black creatures approached him. Their fuzzy forms were too difficult for him to make out who or what stalked toward him, but whoever they were, they spoke far too loudly.

“It’s really him?” One of the four voices, a female voice, asked.

“Aye, I’d recognize that scent anywhere.” The second voice, gruff and experienced, informed the first.

“He’s lost so much blood, Nappa. I don’t know that this will be enough.”

“It doesn’t matter, Chi Chi. Just break off the lid and administer to senzu. We have to try. Celry, take out the tree, I’ll hold him down.”

A moment later, Vegeta’s delirious eyes shot open as the thorn in his side was excrutiatingly ripped from his body. Then the crunch of breaking glass sounded before a warm oil was clumsily poured into his mouth. The senzu oil required little effort to swallow, but as it slid down his throat, he felt his side slowly stitch together. His arm mended a quarter of the way, and a surge of newly produced cells replenished his bloodloss.

The dragon’s vision cleared, but not nearly enough to see in the dark abyss of night. However, even in the darkness of a moonless nightfall, their inky black bodies stood in sharp contrast against the starry sky, like freckleless voids devouring what little light the stars provided. Their silhouettes appeared to be grotesquely misshapen hell hounds with glowing red and blue eyes.

Seeing the startle in the dragon’s beady red eyes, one of the creatures calmly sat on his haunches and explained, “King Vegeta—.”

“Prince.” The dragon quickly corrected, eager to sit up but still felt the remnants of the sharp pain in his side and arm. The creature who addressed him looked to his fellow monsters, concern ruffling the black fur covering his face.

“’Prince Vegeta’?” The dragon nodded solemly. Something in this creature’s voice sounded familiar. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear the voice belonged to General Nappa. “The coronation was unsuccessful?”

“Who are you? What are you?”

“My prince, it’s me, General Nappa. My wife, Celry. Our most experienced field medic, Chi Chi, and my brother Shallot.” The animalistic monsters bowed their heads to the prince and respectfully muttered his title before Nappa continued. “We were lured here by the Kai’s shadow army who then cursed us shortly after the castle fell. The army was a diversion to drive us from the castle. I regret we did not protect you better.”

The world wobbled around Vegeta as his head spun. Kais, shadow armies, and curses. He still didn’t understand, and the one person who promised to inform him was forever silenced.

“Did anyone survive?” The one Nappa introduced as Celry asked, her voice hopeful as she walked on four clawed paws to sit beside Nappa.

Vegeta somberly shook his head and fought back an onslaught of tears, the memories of his fallen brothers and sister still too fresh. No matter his situation, he couldn’t allow these troops to see his pain. He couldn’t allow them to know he, the nine year old almost king, was already defeated and on the verge of giving up.

“No one?” Nappa whispered, hope sinking into his gut with each passing moment of silence as Vegeta shook his head once more.

“No one. Mother and Father, my brothers and sister, everyone in and surrounding the castle. They’re all gone. The only survivors I witnessed were midway through the city. The castle walls cast too much debris everywhere else.”

Nappa and Celry wore the same shocked expression, but Nappa remained hard as Celry leaned her forehead against his shoulder. His long wirey tail reached out and wrapped around hers, trying and failing to comfort her of their loss. For no one expected their fates to be swapped with that of their child. A soldier wasn’t supposed to live while their child died. It was their duty to protect them and all of Sadala, and they had failed miserably.

An invisible fist clenched around Nappa’s throat as he fought the urge to speak. He attempted clearing his throat to no avail, but was able to croak between cracking speech, “Follow me, Prince. We made camp.”

Vegeta reluctantly stood on all fours, feeling like a newborn fawn as his legs awkwardly quaked beneath him. He took one step, fell to the ground and clenched his teeth as his right forearm screamed in agony. The injury from the tree was halfway healed, but he could still feel the ghostly repeated blow of the sword hacking away at his arm.

Instantly, every Saiyan was beside Vegeta. Nappa commanded Chi Chi to tell him why his arm wasn’t healing, but she shook her head without offering an answer. Blood pounded in Vegeta’s ears, missing Nappa’s barked orders to help the prince to his feet.

A wet snout pressed against Vegeta’s side before slipping under his injured arm. The furriness of the nose shocked Vegeta, what the hell were these Saiyans turned into? Before he could ask, the nose slid Vegeta’s arm onto his back and braced Vegeta’s weight as he was lifted onto his feet.

A familiar voice he recognized as Shallot calmly stated, “Try a few steps, I’ve got you.“

Vegeta’s right arm awkwardly twitched despite his mental command for his left to move. He struggled to force his new muscles to move as he intended, but a moment later he finally hobbled alongside Shallot. They followed Nappa and Celry toward camp with Chi Chi trailing close behind. Nappa’s nose pressed against the forest floor, sniffing his way back to camp, but whatever he smelled was lost to Vegeta. Every time he thought he caught the scent Nappa tracked, the trail would abruptly cut off and not resume again for several paces.

From scent to scent, they arrived at a makeshift campsite. Instead of finding tents, discarded piles of armor and weapons were stashed beneath trees, completely useless to the misshapened beasts who freely roamed about the camp. Vegeta glanced around, his vision adjusting to the uncommonly dark mountainside. The red tint in his vision remained as the creatures surrounding him came into better view.

Nappa looked over his shoulder at the bewildered dragon. His red eyes glowed in the dark, illuminating the short fur covered snout where his nose and mouth used to be. Jagged wrinkles creased his jowels, leading up to two short ears protruding from the top of his massive head. The once bulky Saiyan now towered over most of the beasts wandering the camp despite a sharp hump curving his back between his shoulder blades, and Vegeta decided he appeared much like the strange canines the Pikkon Dynasty of the Western half of the continent trained for their hunting expeditions. For a moment, Vegeta wondered if Nappa would laugh the way those creatures did. Nappa’s tail curled around Celry’s who appeared much as Nappa did, though she was significantly smaller in size, but not any less intimidating. 

To his side, Vegeta quickly observed Shallot. Animalistic features replaced his once Saiyan appearance as well. Though he did not bear the same shape as his elder brother. Silver fangs poked from beneath permanently snarled whiskered lips and a half grown wirey mane circled his head and hid his ears.

Vegeta’s night vision completely adjusted as he looked behind them to Chi Chi. Her eyes glowered at the wounds still seeping blood, a trail of blood laid behind them. However, as Vegeta followed the trail, he noticed it was abruptly cut off and disappeared from sight just as the scent Nappa tracked had vanished. Chi Chi followed his gaze, her bright blue eyes disrupting the darkness surrounding them. Her movement drew Vegeta’s attention back to her. Her fur was longer than the others, like wolves’ fur in the middle of a blustering winter. In fact, she appeared just like any wolf he had ever seen except twice as large and with a mouth capable of speech.

Vegeta was so immersed in trying to understand why these Saiyans appeared as dangerous predators that he almost missed Chi Chi instructing him to follow her. “You need more medicine. Shallot, bring him over to my pack.”

Shallot stepped to the right, dragging Vegeta with him. “Prince, it’s just a little way over here. Chi Chi will have you fixed up in no time at all.”

Stumbling slightly, Vegeta followed their lead. A large pack overflowing with medical supplies rested against a black dying tree. For the life of him, Vegeta couldn’t understand how this tree managed to keep from toppling over in its rotten state, but the pack rested against the trunk regardless as though the decaying tree were as solid as a thriving thousand year old oak.

“Lay him here.” Chi Chi ordered Shallot once again. Her nose pointed to a patch of grass in front of her large burgundy medical bag. Shallot followed as instructed and helped Vegeta to the ground. “Prince Vegeta, this might sting.”

A half second later Vegeta’s pained roars rang over the mountain side as another bottle of senzu oil was crushed in Chi Chi’s mouth and poured directly onto his severed arm. The oil burned at the ridges, clotting his blood and desperately struggling to mend the wound, but the only effect it had was in closing the bleeding gap a mere half millimeter.

Nappa settled beside Vegeta and observed the wound. “Why isn’t it healing?”

“I—I don’t know. This is my most potent medicine. A single drop should have healed his arm.”

“At least he’s stopped bleeding.”

Chi Chi nodded before adding onto Nappa’s observation, “For now. It may very well resume if he places any pressure on it.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Give him more senzu until it’s fully healed.” Chi Chi solemnly looked at Nappa and shook her head. “What?”

“I have enough supplies to heal an army ten times over, but my supplies are still finite and there is no way of knowing when I can collect more. What if someone else is gravely injured? Prince Vegeta, please understand I mean no disrespect, but I cannot waste all of my medical equipment on a non lethal wound.”

Nappa stood on all fours to protest, but Vegeta quickly interceded. “She’s right, Nappa. There are too many uncertainties right now. We need to make what supplies we have last as long as possible until we know more.”

The selfless maturity in Vegeta’s decision surprised Nappa, but he quietly settled down without any further resistance. Nappa glanced at the prince from the corner of his eye. He was clearly in pain as a grimace lined his scaled face. His nostrils flared with each attempt to control his breathing, his eyes scrunched shut as Chi Chi closely observed the wound, and his hand twitched uncontrollably. However, even though the last dose of senzu was not applied directly onto the wound in Vegeta’s side, Nappa could see it clearly had an effect in stitching the wound up completely.

With a sigh, Nappa respectfully commented, “Your father has trained you well, my prince.”

The mention of his father made Vegeta flinch. The last moments of the king’s life flashed behind Vegeta’s crimson eyes followed by his mother’s last command ringing in his ears. _Do your worst!_

“Nappa, I need to know everything. Tell me who those men were, why they attacked, and, most importantly, tell me how to avenge my family and our country.”

“Aye, Prince Vegeta.” A single claw poked out of Nappa’s paw. He drug it through the side of the tree, revealing dull lifeless grey wood behind the blackened bark. A rigid rough outline of their continent appeared after a handful of claw strokes. Then, Nappa added a few mountain ranges, rivers, and significant landmarks. Finally, he carved the symbol for each country inside it’s location on the continent. It was a simple, ugly map, but it worked regardless.

“This,” Nappa pointed to the northern most country hidden in the valley of a long narrow mountain range, “is Sadala. As you know, our geographical location makes us nearly impervious to foreign invaders. In order to enter, they must pass through on the river.”

Nappa’s claw dragged along the narrow ridge signifying the river when Vegeta knowledgeably stated, “Which is why we have magical wards placed at the delta and along the river banks.”

“Aye, those wards deter most invaders. However, these men were equipped to render the spells ineffective.” Nappas claw hovered over a thick river running perpendicular to the one which flowed from Sadala. It’s wide rushing waters divided the continent in half and fed the majority of seas, smaller rivers, and streams; The Rystalin, it’s given name in a language long forgotten. Nappa’s claw followed the Rystalin eastward until his paw rested in the plains bordering the continent’s ocean. “This _is_ the Kingdom of Kai.”

Vegeta studied the map and shook his head, assuming Nappa’s memory faltered. No such kingdom existed in this region. “Our troops state nothing except ruins reside there.”

“Precisely. _Ruins_. What do you know of the previous kings from your studies? The ones who fell by way of the ring.”

Like a good student, Vegeta recited his history lessons from memory. “Two kings have fallen by way of the ring. The first, his name long forgotten, was consumed by his greed for riches. He taxed the people of Sadala into starvation and so the ring claimed his life. The second, my great-grandfather, became obsessed with the glory of war and incited an unnecessary conflict to sate his bloodthirst. When the king he attacked fell, King Vegeta I fell, too.”

“Very good. The kingdom your great-grandfather destroyed was once known as the Kingdom of Kai. It was a realm of peaceful mages. They drank tea constantly and avoided war, though they were far from weak. At the time, it was rumored the Kingdom of Kai was training its younger generations in magical combat, something our own mages have never been able to achieve. So your great grandfather marched his army to the east and burned that kingdom to the ground. Your father was born the night of the attack.”

“So, those men, they were from Kai?”

Nappa nodded and stared through the map on the tree trunk to some unseen battlefield. “Gowasu and Zamasu. They were amongst the few survivors of Kai, mere children when the kingdom fell. They have grown powerful, destructive, and have ripped through countless realms without mercy. The youngest of the two, Zamasu, is a mage of extraordinary power. Your father knew it would be a matter of time before they made their way to their ultimate goal; Sadala. He hoped you would be older and wiser before that day came.”

Silence stretched between them as Vegeta’s young mind spun. Nappa’s answers sparked more questions than it resolved, but the one question he couldn’t bring himself to ask, why didn’t his father tell him of the Kingdom of Kai? Why did he insist Vegeta be crowned king in the midst of an invasion?

The red stain on his finger mocked him as he studied his silver claw. He could act however he pleased without the ring claiming his life. Nothing could stop him from taking whatever he desired from whomever he hated. He could slither down to the valley, tear out Gowasu and Zamasu’s throats with his teeth, and rip apart every shred of their bodies until he finally stopped hearing Tarble’s silenced screams. It was an entirely selfish notion, one born from the consequences of corruption, and nothing would be able to stop him. But even if the ring were active, even if it could still claim his life, it was a price he’d gladly pay for avenging his family’s deaths.

“General Nappa,” an uncertain voice called out from behind.

Nappa turned to find his youngest up and comer, Lieutenant Raditz, standing at attention as best he could despite his painfully twisted back. “What is it?”

“The summer rains are approaching and shelter on the mountainside is limited. My battalion has located a cave near the mouth of the river that may hold us all, but not comfortably.”

“Very well. Lead teams of ten into the cave. Report back to me when everyone else is secured.”

Raditz nodded and stalked toward Chi Chi. Before picking up her bag with his teeth, he explained, “Kakarot needs your assistance. He believes he may have found something of use.”

Chi Chi followed after Raditz leaving Nappa and Vegeta alone. Vegeta glanced to Nappa. “Summer rains? Those aren’t due for another month.” However, Nappa silently shook his head. “You mean we have been on this mountain for a _month_?”

“These mountains have always been enchanted, Prince, but Zamasu’s magic did something to the land. I’m still not sure what we’re up against.”

An hour later, or what felt like an hour despite the sun rising to the middle of the cloud covered sky, the Saiyan army was packed shoulder to shoulder safely inside of a large crystal cavern. Heavy storm clouds blackened the sky, harsh winds blew ash debris between the trees, and horizontal lightning cracked overhead. Vegeta’s injured arm slowed him to such a degree that he and Nappa were amongst the last to enter the cave, beating out Shallot whose travel party had become lost somewhere on the mountain.

As they entered, they saw giant pink and green pillars of illuminated crystal holding the fourty foot ceiling over their heads. The cave was oval in shape and nearly one hundred yards in length. A few well placed crystals prevented anyone seeing all the way to the far wall from the entrance, but it was plain to see various naturally made tunnels led away from this main room.

Vegeta settled into a corner near the front of the cave. His long tail curled around him and rested over his eyes, blocking out the hundred or so curious leering eyes. However, even though he couldn’t see the transformed Saiyans, he could hear their gossiping whispers. Some asked if he was truly the prince while others questioned where the rest of his family was. Vegeta’s cheeks burned with embarrassment over his failure, rage for his losses, and self loathing for already failing to be the king his father had trained him to become; he was unfit to be amongst these proven warriors.

This self depreciating spiral was suddenly interrupted by warm scratchy fur brushing against his side. Vegeta lifted his tail from his eyes to find Nappa’s back to him while Celry curled up beside the gigantic hyena-like creature. Nappa briefly glanced at the dragon from the corner of his eye. A glint and a nod told Vegeta all he needed to know before Nappa rested his head on Celry’s paw as they waited for the storm to pass; Nappa would fight anyone who dared challenge Prince Vegeta, even if that meant fighting Vegeta’s internal demons for him.

The storm raged outside of the cave. The enormous crystals caught each lightning bolts’ reflection and created a harrowing strobe effect throughout the cavern. Many closed their eyes to shut out the painful effect of the light flashes on their sensitive night vision. Nappa placed a paw over Celry’s eyes when simply closing them proved ineffective.

As the winds howled outside, Vegeta whispered to Nappa, “Are you sure we shouldn’t have searched for Shallot and the others?”

“If we had sent a search party for them, then they too would have become lost and endangered. We have to wait until the storm passes, but they will find shelter. Their bodies may have changed, but their survival skills developed through years of training are fully intact.”

Despite Nappa’s sound logic, a deep unease rumbled in the pit of Vegeta’s stomach. With each flash of lightning and tumultuous thrashing of violent winds, Vegeta grew more concerned they had already lost another ten Saiyans. As exhaustion finally claimed his worn down body, King Vegeta’s advice followed the prince into slumber. “ _With each drop of Saiyan blood spilled, Sadala grows weaker_.”

The storm settled into a dreary grey drizzle by the following morning, but the calmness wasn’t what drew the Saiyans from their shelter. A piercing shriek echoed over the mountain range. As Nappa and Celry temporarily abandoned Vegeta to find the source, they witnessed a small black dot falling from the tip of the highest peak. Just as the black dot slammed into the side of the mountain, another hole opened in Nappa’s heart and he sprinted toward the dot with every ounce of speed his body contained.

“SHALLOT!”


End file.
